


Étude No. 12 in B-flat minor, S.139

by xlessxthanx3x



Series: Piano Man [4]
Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Gen, I'm controlling my word count this time lmao, M/M, Slurs, christmas lasts this whole week right?, gratuitous drinking, most of it's done it should be done very soon, sing us a song you're the piano gob, twelve days of christmas start on the 25th technically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlessxthanx3x/pseuds/xlessxthanx3x
Summary: Gob would always look forward to the day after Thanksgiving, because that was when Christmas really started. That Friday, his mom would have people come over to put up a big, fake tree in their living room. Suddenly, the neat, crisp, and perfect designs in the house disappeared and the place would be covered with twinkling lights, holly, and even mistletoe. Stockings were hung by the fireplace with care, like out of that weird poem everyone liked to read during the year.But what Gob loved the most was the music.Snapshots of the most important Christmases in the life of pianist George "Gob" Bluth II, from the good to the bad and everything in between.
Relationships: George Oscar "Gob" Bluth/Original Male Character(s), George Oscar "Gob" Bluth/Tony Wonder, The Bluths - Relationship
Series: Piano Man [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1124313
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. He Sees You When You're Sleeping

**He Knows When You’re Awake**

_He sees you when you’re sleeping_ _  
__He knows when you’re awake_ _  
__He knows if you’ve been bad or good_ _  
__So you better be good for goodness’ sake_ _  
__(You better be good for goodness’ sake!)_

[ -“Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” as performed by Bruce Springsteen ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76WFkKp8Tjs)

* * *

Gob Bluth _loved_ Christmas.

That probably wasn’t a surprise to anyone. He was a kid, after all, and kids loved Christmas. But Gob Bluth _really_ loved Christmas. 

His love of it was probably because his mom, Lucille, really, _really_ loved Christmas.

Now _that_ was a surprise to everyone. Lucille Bluth was a formidable figure, always ready to criticize with some acidic comment or another, normally accompanied by a sip of some alcoholic beverage in her hand—normally vodka on the rocks or her breakfast martini, which all of her children were trained to make her at one point or another. 

But at Christmas time, she was a different person. Well, not a completely different person. She still drank, she still was ready to criticize, and she still was far from some beacon of maternal warmth. She was still Lucille Bluth, but she _was_ a bit nicer, a bit cheerier, and even a bit jolly.

Gob would always look forward to the day after Thanksgiving, because that was when Christmas really started. That Friday, his mom would have people come over to put up a big, fake tree in their living room. Suddenly, the neat, crisp, and perfect designs in the house disappeared and the place would be covered with twinkling lights, holly, and even mistletoe. Stockings were hung by the fireplace with care, like out of that weird poem everyone liked to read during the year. 

But what Gob loved the most was the music.

That definitely wasn’t a surprise, either. Ever since he started playing piano at the age of four, Gob was devoted to music. Even by the age of nine, he was regularly going to the symphony and the opera with his mom, his excitable, inattentive nature disappearing as he was enraptured by the music he heard. He collected CDs, mostly classical stuff and the pop things he heard on the radio, all of which he’d blast in his room, whenever he wasn’t playing or practicing himself.

Usually the sound of him learning new music and practicing his scales—you had to keep practicing them, even when you got to his age, after all—or him playing the radio in his room were the only music that played. But during Christmas time, his mom pulled out her old records. From a young age, Gob was introduced to the stylings of Rosemary Clooney and Perry Como and, of course, the smooth, calming voice of Bing Crosby. 

Despite loving the sun of his California hometown, Bing made Gob dream of white Christmases right alongside him.

And, of course, there was the matter of presents.

The Bluths were well off. _Obviously._ Normally the kids could just ask for what they wanted throughout the year and Lucille would pull out her wallet; it was easier to shut them up than deal with their constant begging. So things like birthdays weren’t that big of a deal past the parties, because presents were just a way of life.

Christmas was different, though. Christmas brought out this need to actually try to get good presents for everyone. Gob even had class time devoted to making hand-made gifts for his parents like ornaments with his school picture on it, while the handful of Jewish kids got stuck making weird six-pointed star things. Apparently Jewish people didn’t celebrate Christmas, which _had_ to suck.

Lucille also got in the spirit of gift giving, if only for the perfectly-wrapped boxes that could go under the tree. It really helped make the place look even more perfectly Christmas-y.

But the best part of all of that was obviously Santa Claus.

Every year, like clockwork, the Bluth children would wake up on Christmas morning and find their stockings full of presents from Santa. Gob had gotten everything from CDs and tapes to chocolate to small toys stuffed in his stocking. And the idea that some guy put in all this effort to make him happy, some guy he didn’t even _know,_ well, how could he hate that?

As he got older, though, he really wanted to meet him. Partly to thank him, but also because maybe he could get even _more_ toys out of him.

When he was nine, he decided it was time to take the matter into his own hands. He was older and wiser now and had finally stayed up until midnight for the first time a year prior on New Year’s Eve. He was adult-y enough to do it.

But he still didn’t want to do it alone. The idea of finally meeting Santa was just as scary as it was exciting; he needed back-up in case he froze. 

So, Gob grabbed his twin siblings on Christmas Eve and told them they were all staying up to see Santa.

“But _Gob,”_ Lindsay whined, “if we stay up, he won’t come, remember?”

“Yeah, he knows when we’re asleep and he won’t come unless we’re sleeping!” Michael said.

Gob scoffed. “Come on! Do you really believe _that’s_ real? They just tell us that so we’ll go to sleep. There’s no way he can know if he’s driving around in a sleigh all night. _Duh.”_ He rolled his eyes and said, “You two are such _babies.”_ Both Michael and Lindsay started to protest, but Gob just said, “Whatever. I bet you _babies_ couldn’t even stay up that late.”

That was all it took for them to agree to stay up with him. They considered trying to get Buster to join them, but he was only a toddler, so there was no way he’d last, and their mom still coddled him and tucked him in at night and everything. 

After a big, delicious meal prepared by their maid, the Bluths all opened one present each, as per tradition. Then they all gathered around to watch _How the Grinch Stole Christmas,_ one of their traditional movies. 

Gob always thought the Grinch bared a striking resemblance to their dad. Maybe that was because he was the only one who didn’t get into the Christmas spirit. He’d often find excuses to leave during Christmas movies and stay late at the office to avoid Christmas music throughout the season. Gob hoped someday his dad’s heart would grow three sizes. 

He didn’t just wish for that at Christmas, either.

Once the film wrapped up, Lucille busied herself putting Buster to bed and told her other children to go head up to bed soon. The three of them nodded and told her they would, but before they headed upstairs, they huddled up to go over their plan.

“We’ll meet on the stairs at ten-thirty _sharp,”_ Gob told Michael and Lindsay. “We’ll go down together and we can wait around the corner. That way he won’t see us coming when he comes out of the fireplace.”

They had decided ten-thirty had to be a good time to start, because that was already _so_ late. Even their _parents_ had to be asleep by then, right?

After they agreed on the time and place, they broke their huddle and headed upstairs, unaware that their father was coming up with a plan of his own. 

* * *

It was only a quarter past ten when Gob heard something downstairs.

He jumped out of his bed and quietly left his room, glad to see that Lindsay and Michael soon followed suit. 

“Do you think that’s him?” Michael whispered.

“Who _else_ could it be?” Gob asked.

Lindsay was absolutely _beaming._ “Why are we still up here, then?”

That was a good point. The three of them rushed down the stairs, doing their best to be quiet just to be safe.

But as they rounded the corner to the fireplace and saw a big, bearded man dressed up in red and white, they couldn’t keep quiet anymore. 

_“Santa!”_

The man turned to them with shock.

“It _is_ you!” Lindsay cried out, running over to him and hugging him. Gob ran over a second later, and even Michael ran over to hug him, which was _very_ un-Michael of him. But even the most Michael-est of people couldn’t resist hugging _Santa._ Come on, he was freaking _Santa!_

“What are you children doing up?” Santa asked.

“We wanted to meet you!” Lindsay said.

“I wanted to meet you first!” Gob said. 

“I wanted to meet him, too!” Michael said.

“It was my idea!” Gob pointed out.

“But we helped!” Michael insisted.

“You didn’t even want to do it!” Gob argued.

“But I did it anyway!”

As Gob pushed Michael, Lindsay warned them, “Guys! You’re not gonna get gifts if you fight!”

“And if you’re too loud, you’ll wake up your parents,” Santa said. 

Apparently, it was too late for that. 

“What’s going on?” George called out. “Did someone break into the house? I’ve got a gun!” 

“Daddy, no!” Lindsay cried out. “No one’s here!”

“Some sicko broke in and has my baby girl? You better run, buddy.”

Gob’s eyes widened. “Dad, it’s just Santa!” 

But it was too late. George rounded the corner and though Michael and Gob tried to get Santa to run, the man couldn’t move fast enough. Suddenly their dad’s hunting rifle went off and Santa fell over and there was blood pouring out of where his arm used to be.

All three of the children screamed at the sight, crying and shaking, Gob the loudest of them all. Santa had been shot all because of _him!_ He was definitely on the naughty list for the rest of his life—if Santa even survived the shot.

“Oh god, I shot Santa!” George moaned loudly. “If only you three hadn’t stayed up, I never would’ve shot him!”

Then, suddenly, Santa sat up and the three children fell silent.

He pulled down his beard—wait, it wasn’t real?—and told them seriously, “And _that’s_ why you don’t stay up all night to wait for Santa.”

* * *

That Christmas morning was a bit lackluster compared to Christmases of the past. Even if it was fake, it was hard to shake off the image of Santa bleeding out in your great room.

By the next Christmas season, though, the three of them were able to laugh about it.

“It just sucks that we didn’t get to meet the _real_ Santa,” Gob said.

That made Michael raise his eyebrows. “That’s because Santa doesn’t exist.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“He’s made up,” Michael said like it was obvious. “He’s just someone they tell kids about so they’ll behave. You know, ‘you’d better be good for goodness’ sake’? It’s all made up.”

Gob looked at Lindsay, ready to share one of their shared looks about how much of an idiot their stupid, dumb brother was.

But, to his surprise, Lindsay was nodding. “Yeah. He’s not real. It’s why daddy pulled off the whole lesson so easily. He didn’t have to worry about Santa actually showing up.”

Gob looked between the twins and suddenly laughed. “I…I knew that,” Gob lied with a smug, fake scoff. “I was just pretending for your guys’ sake. ‘Cause you’re babies who probably…probably still believe in him. Because y-you’re _stupid._ And…and no one that nice could ever exist, anyways!”

Gob sat there a moment longer as the realization hit him before saying he had to practice and running to the living room. He had a new piece by that Mozart guy to learn, after all.

And maybe it was just the piece or maybe it was just the news he had been given, but Gob decided that he really didn’t like Mozart that much.

* * *

 _You’d better not shout, you’d better not cry_   
_You’d better not pout, I’m telling you why_   
Santa Claus is comin’ to town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hope you guys like this - more to come once I can be back at the computer! <3


	2. I’m Just Really Baked

**I’m Just Really Baked**

_Even our Santa has a suntan_ _  
_ _He’s also an unemployed stuntman_ _  
_ _Is he even awake?_

 _Yeah, I’m just really baked_ _  
_ _If he can be Santa Claus, anyone can!_ _  
_ [ -“California Christmastime” from _Crazy Ex-Girlfriend_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHd0xLCW2lw)

* * *

It was always nice when Uncle Oscar came to visit.

Uncle Oscar used to come over a lot, usually just to help with Lucille’s pipes or something. Loudly. Gob figured he stopped coming over as often after Buster was born because he couldn’t be that loud with a baby around. That made sense to him.

Gob kinda missed him coming by, though. He was weird and always smelled bad, but he was nice to him. He seemed to actually respect his abilities, something he definitely heard a lot of, because Gob would normally play when he got especially loud in his mom’s room. He didn’t know what was going on in there, but it made him _very_ uncomfortable. 

The best times, though, were when Oscar would visit when George was around. Whenever his father was there, he’d make fun of and criticize Oscar a lot. Sometimes Gob got to join in, which would give him approving looks from his father, which was always a great bonus. And even with his comments, Uncle Oscar would still be so nice to him.

So when he heard Uncle Oscar was spending Christmas with them, Gob was super excited. Getting his dad’s approval _and_ positive comments from Uncle Oscar all at once? Fucking _sweet!_

At first, the visit was just what Gob expected from Uncle Oscar. Well, Uncle Oscar was acting the same, at least. He still smelled bad and was still nice to all of the kids. He doted a lot on Buster, which was a little annoying, but he was the baby, and Gob had come to expect him to get treated better than anyone else. It was fine. Whatever.

But his mom was definitely acting weird around him. She didn’t invite him to help with her pipes or anything, and she was looking about as annoyed with him as she normally looked…well, how she looked at everyone else. Gob didn’t understand why.

At least his dad was acting normally. George called him a “dirty old hippie” at one point when he was out of earshot. Gob agreed, though he didn’t really know what his dad meant, and said, “He definitely smells like one.” George gave his eldest son an approving look and the two of them made fun of Oscar for a while. Just the two of them.

“You’re smarter than you look, Gob,” George told him before he left the kitchen. 

Gob grinned brightly as he grabbed one of the Christmas cookies left on the counter. “You know that wasn’t a compliment, right?” Michael asked.

“Don’t be jealous that dad likes me more,” Gob told his brother with a smirk before biting into his Christmas cookie.

* * *

Gob may have been very much an adult at the age of twelve, but he was a kid, and he loved sweets, so naturally he adored Christmas food. Their maid, Rosa, would start baking right away, and there’d be cookies on the kitchen counter throughout all of December. She always put them into shapes that made them even more fun to eat, and Gob loved every design. Whether they were snowflakes—he had never seen them in person, but he hoped he’d see them one day on Christmas—or reindeer—when he was younger, he’d make them jump and fly a bit before he ate them, but he was _twelve_ now, so he was very mature and would just bite them right away—or Santa himself—he obviously would bite into his arm first, because that memory was forever burned into his brain—Gob ate them all. Maybe they weren’t oatmeal raisin, but they were still yummy.

He wasn’t alone in that. All of his siblings loved eating them. And while his mom had started telling Lindsay to stop eating as many of them, all of the Bluth kids loved the apparently never-ending supply of cookies on the counter during December.

So that meant when they woke up Christmas morning to no cookies whatsoever, there was a panic.

“There were so many left!” Michael cried out.

“Where did they go??” Buster asked.

“You ate them all, didn’t you?” Lindsay accused Gob.

“What? No! If anyone it was _you!_ Mom says you’re getting _fat!”_ Gob volleyed back.

“I am _not!”_ Lindsay said.

“Where did they _go??”_ Buster whined.

“You are! You’re already bigger than Michael!” Gob yelled.

“Girls mature faster!” Michael tried to say, but Lindsay launched herself at Gob anyways.

“Ow! Lindsay! I—MOM!!”

“Where did they _go??!”_ Buster cried.

By the time Michael separated Lindsay and Gob, Lucille had come in, drawn over by Gob’s cries for her and Buster’s actual tears, and George followed her. “What’s going on in here?”

“All the cookies are gone,” Michael said as calmly as he could, but even Michael was a kid, and his voice came out with a bit of a whine to it. “There were at least a batch left last night.”

“Did Santa eat them all?” Buster asked tearfully.

Gob opened his mouth to tell him that Santa _obviously_ wasn’t real, but Michael and Lindsay both nudged him to be quiet. Buster was too young to know that Santa didn’t exist. Gob rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

Oscar came in seconds later and asked what was going on. Lucille turned to him with a glare and explained, _“Someone_ ate all the children’s cookies last night.” She crossed her arms and said, “I’m guessing it was someone who got the munchies really badly.”

Oscar stuttered a few times before finally admitting, “I…I may have had a couple.”

“Uncle Oscar!” Lindsay cried out.

“How could you?” Michael asked angrily.

“I _trusted_ you!” Buster yelled.

Gob glared at his uncle before glancing over at his dad. Gob cleared his throat, drew himself up tall, and said, “I guess we shouldn’t have trusted a dirty, old hippie.” 

George snorted and said, “You’re right, Gob.” George turned to his brother as Gob smirked with pride at getting his father’s approval yet again. “Don’t you have your own ‘special’ cookies anyways?”

Wait, Uncle Oscar had cookies? Yet he stole _theirs?_

“Why do you think he ate all of ours?” Lucille asked.

“I just had one of mine; I thought I’d be fine!” Oscar said. 

The kids all exchanged looks.

“I can’t believe you brought that into our _house.”_

All four of them seemed to be on the same page.

“Now we’re going to have to deal with them whining all day.”

Wordlessly, the four children snuck out of the room and found their way to the guest room Uncle Oscar was in.

* * *

It wasn’t hard to find Oscar’s stash of cookies. He still had them up on the nightstand in a plastic container. They were kinda small and when Gob opened the container, it filled the room with a weird smell. All four of them looked at them curiously as they heard the sound of their parents still berating Oscar in the kitchen.

After a moment, Gob shrugged and took one out. He ate it in just a couple of bites since it was so small, and he made a small face. They tasted even stronger than they smelled. Still, Gob took another one out with a shrug. Smell or not, Gob was still a kid who loved cookies. 

Following Gob’s lead, the rest of them each took one and ate it. They definitely tasted weird, like there was some herb or something in them, but it was still sweet and tasted like a cookie and everything. The herb must’ve been what made it special.

“Too bad none of these are oatmeal raisin,” Gob said with a sigh as he started on a third.

“I don’t know how just one of them keeps Uncle Oscar satisfied, though,” Lindsay said as she grabbed a couple more. She gave one more to Buster and told him that was all he could have. “You know what too much sugar does to you.” 

Buster protested, “But you guys get so much more!”

“That’s ‘cause we don’t go crazy if we eat sugar, you freak,” Gob said, grabbing his fourth cookie. Buster pouted and sat down, but slowly and dutifully ate his second and last cookie.

“Should we really have all of these?” Michael asked after his second one.

Gob shook his head at his brother. “Michael, Michael, Michael…dumb, stupid Michael—”

“I am _not_ dumb!”

“He ate all of our cookies! We’re allowed to eat all of his back!” 

Lindsay agreed. “It’s like dad says—an eye for an eye.”

“Right. Squid pro crow,” Gob said with a nod.

Michael blinked a few times. “What?”

Gob laughed. “How can you say you’renot dumb when you don’t know about ‘squid pro crow’?” Michael opened his mouth, but Gob just stuck a cookie in it. “Shut up and eat your cookies; it’s Christmas.”

Thankfully, that managed to shut him up.

* * *

The kids _did_ end up leaving a couple for their uncle; after all, it _was_ Christmas, so they were in the spirit of giving or whatever. But, more importantly, they heard him coming back to his room and, eye for an eye or not, they didn’t want to get in trouble for searching his stuff.

After that, they all got dressed for dinner. Gob never got why they made them dress nice when they were just sitting at home all day, but Lucille was insistent when they ate a nice dinner. So Gob got into the uncomfortable sweater Lucille had bought him and sat down at the table for the food Rosa had made, all re-heated by his mom to avoid paying Rosa holiday pay.

“I think something weird as in those cookies,” Michael muttered to Gob. 

Gob snorted. “Don’t be paranoid, guy.” 

But Gob slowly started to agree once dinner started. At first, he just ate happily; he was _really_ hungry. Or maybe not even hungry, but he felt like he needed to eat. Like, a _lot._ Lindsay seemed to be feeling the same, because even with a few comments from their mom, she kept eating what she wanted to, giggling as she loaded her plate with mashed potatoes.

“It’s like a volcano,” she told Gob as she poured gravy onto the mini-mountain of mashed potatoes she had made. 

That was _the_ funniest. Fucking. _Thing._

**_Ever._ **

Gob started to laugh along with Lindsay, their laughter only growing until it was almost impossible for them to hold onto their silverware anymore.

“What’s so funny?” Michael asked them suddenly, panicked. “Stop laughing!”

“It’s Mount Potato!” Gob laughed.

“It erupted!” Lindsay announced loudly. Gob made the sound of an eruption and they both laughed even harder.

“Stop laughing! Stop!” Michael cried out. He tried to whisper across the table, “They’re gonna find out what we did!”

George and Lucille looked at each other and then at Michael. “What did you do?”

Michael’s eyes widened and he looked between his mom and dad with an anxious expression.

“I told you you were _dumb!”_ Gob said, still laughing. Michael brought his hands to either side of his head and started muttering to himself.

“What did you _do?”_ Lucille asked as Michael got more and more worked up. 

Lindsay laughed at her twin. “God, you’re turning into such a _Buster!”_

“They’re both so _dumb!”_ Gob laughed with glee, Lindsay agreeing with him. Why was he freaking out so much? Neither Gob or Lindsay had a care in the world. Hell, they weren’t even worried what would happen if their parents found out.

Which was a good thing, 

“We shouldn’t have had those cookies!” Michael cried out, definitely sounding like Buster did during his panic attacks. “We shouldn’t have stolen Uncle Oscar’s cookies! We’re gonna be in so much trouble!”

“You did _what?!”_ Lucille squawked. 

“Mommy,” Buster said, looking a little green. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Oh my god, not Buster, too!” Lucille exclaimed.

“This is what you get for inviting my brother into this house!” George told her as she ran to Buster’s side.

Lucille glared at him and hissed, “Don’t you blame this on _me!_ He’s _your_ brother!”

“I’m not the one who invited him!”

Gob, with a very delayed response, said, “Yeah, and he ate all of our cookies! He owed us!” 

“Yeah! Professional squid,” Lindsay said with a big nod.

Seconds later, Buster threw up and Lucille cried out, “George, call 9-1-1!”

Michael panicked even more as his dad went to the phone to do what he was told. His mom was calling the cops on them! Oh _no!_ “We’re in so much trouble! We’re in so much trouble!” Michael repeated to himself. Oh, god, he was going to jail for the rest of his life because he listened to his idiot older brother! “I don’t wanna go to jail!”

“I feel all tingly,” Gob told Lindsay, ignoring Michael’s paranoia.

“Me, too!” Lindsay agreed. There was a nice feeling in her head. Weird, but nice, that she could only describe as a tingle. Probably because that was the word Gob put in her head. “Mom always says Uncle Oscar makes her tingly! This must be why!” Lindsay said.

Thankfully her mother was too busy worrying over her baby to hear what Lindsay had said.

* * *

Eventually Lucille went with Buster in the ambulance, apparently not too worried that her other children had eaten the cookies as well. After some begging, George let the kids watch put on a Claymation Christmas special. Lindsay and Gob watched with wide eyes, utterly _fascinated_ by the animation style. How _weird._

“Too bad _your_ nose can’t do that,” Gob told Lindsay as Rudolph started to lead the way in the fog.

Normally, Lindsay would’ve hit him for that, but, instead, she started to laugh along with him. “That’d be _amazing!”_

“They’d love you at school, instead of calling you names! You’re _just_ like Rudolph!” Gob said excitedly.

“I _am!”_ Lindsay agreed. 

Eventually, they drifted into deep, philosophical conversations about why Rudolph was one of the saddest stories.

“They don’t even like him for _him._ It’s just ‘cause they could _use_ him,” Lindsay said. “That’s the only reason why they cheer for him in the end. Because his nose turns out to be special.”

“They’re so _mean,”_ Gob agreed.

“And dumb for not likin’ him just ‘cause he’s different, you know?”

Gob nodded. “Almost as dumb as _Michael.”_

 _“Totally,”_ Lindsay agreed. Michael was so dumb, seeing as he was still freaking out as if he was going to jail for real. Michael, at Gob and Lindsay’s insistence, had joined them in the living room, but hid in the corner, not wanting his back facing any entrance, his eyes twitching at every noise.

“This is the best Christmas _ever,”_ Gob declared.

* * *

After the best Christmas ever, a few things changed.

For one, Lucille, who had always babied Buster anyways, became even more protective. Apparently watching him get his stomach pumped had scared her, and suddenly she was coddling him twice as much. 

For another, Lucille explained, out of Buster’s earshot, that Oscar’s cookies had something called “marijuana” in them. Apparently that was one of the things Nancy Reagan was talking about when she and the celebrities she used told them to “Just Say No,” and disappointing a Reagan was a crime as bad as treason to Lucille Bluth.

For yet another, Uncle Oscar was banned from the house and the kids were told they weren’t allowed to speak to him ever again. That meant Gob lost the one positive thing he had in his relationship with his dad, the ability to insult his uncle in person. 

God, that _sucked._

Well, he’d find something else to replace it at _some_ point. Surely he’d impress his dad again someday. After all, there was no way his dad would make fun of him forever, right?

* * *

  
 _‘Cause this is California_ _  
_ And we do Christmas right!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come soon, I promise! I unfortunately have guests over for Christmas Eve so I can't post this right away, but I hope you guys like this so far and sorry it's so late!! 
> 
> [Playlist here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/28ZJVmzNO4rT9kKBYlvRvp?si=CPcqUKAfQuqpAUYl98kJPQ) It's not completely organized, but these are the songs planned!


	3. So Let's Open That Bottle of Liquor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas of Gob's senior year of high school ([chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14952644/chapters/35213111) of Étude Op. 25, No. 2 in F minor)

**So Let’s Open That Bottle of Liquor**

_ Well, the last present's delivered  
_ _ And the snow outside's gettin' thicker  
_ _ So let's open that bottle of liquor  
_ _ Hey, bourbon, take me home _ _   
_ [ -“The Spirits of Christmas” from  _ Bob’s Burgers _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lud3bgEJeTg)

* * *

“How was New York?” Michael asked as Gob drove them to the mall for some last minute shopping. He had just gotten back the previous night from a quick trip up there to hit up some schools for auditions, his first round, and Michael and Lindsay hadn’t had a chance to hear about his experience.

Gob wasn’t sure how to respond. He really wasn’t sure New York City was the place for him. It was crowded and loud and busy, all things he normally liked, but it was also uptight and filthy and a little scary, too. Like, there were parts of LA that he knew better than to go to for his safety, but he had  _ no idea _ where those places were in New York. All of it seemed scary in that sense.

But, on the other hand, it was nice to get away from everything. The confusing feelings and conflicting thoughts he kept cycling through at home seemed to disappear once he was a whole country away. He didn’t have to think about how he had slept with a guy at camp. He didn’t have to think about how he had fucked up the relationship with that guy by shredding up his information. He didn’t have to think about how his whole family would hate him even more if they ever found out what he had done that summer, because they undoubtedly would.

After all, he kinda hated himself for it, too. 

It was just nice to be away from all of that. While part of him hoped he’d run into Seth at the auditions at the schools he visited, just so he could explain himself, he was glad that he got away from everything. All he had to do in New York was play the music he loved so much, and that was that.

“It was okay,” Gob finally decided as an answer. Knowing Michael would want some of the school details, Gob explained, “I took a sample lesson at Manhattan School of Music—I hated that one. Juilliard was pretty cool, though. Not sure I’m that into NYU, but it was fun there.” 

Lindsay asked, “Did you see the Rockefeller tree?”

Gob couldn’t help but smile. That had  _ definitely _ been his favorite part. While the people weren’t very Christmas-y personality wise, the city was full of bright lights and decorations and that tree… _woah._ It was so big and beautiful and festive that he wished he had a camera. Then again, a picture wouldn’t have done it justice; it was too magnificent to really capture its beauty on film. 

“It was  _ amazing,” _ Gob said sincerely. “It was larger than life. Like,  _ really.  _ If New York was like that all year round, I’d totally want to live there.”

“I’m pretty sure the whole city has to be larger than life,” Michael said reasonably. It seemed that way, even if he had never been there.

“Christmas has  _ got _ to be magical there,” Lindsay said with a wistful sigh. “I’m  _ so _ jealous you got to see that.”

“The real Fairtayle of New York,” Michael said dryly.

“Oh, yeah, did the boys of the NYPD choir sing ‘Galway Bay’?” Lindsay asked with a laugh, making Michael crack a smile, too.

Gob raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Lindsay raised her eyebrows right back. “You haven’t heard ‘Fairytale of New York’? I figured it’d be playing there, like, all day. I’ve already heard it, like, ten times since it came out and it’s not even American  _ or _ Californian.”

“Yeah, even  _ I’ve _ heard it,” Michael said.

“I didn’t hear a lot of music there,” Gob replied.

“Oh, you’ll  _ love _ it,” Lindsay said, honestly a little excited to play it for her brother. “It’s a Christmas song, but, like, kinda Bluth-y.”

Michael considered that for a moment before nodding. “That’s actually a great way to put it.”

“There’s swearing and drinking  _ and _ there’s piano.”

Gob couldn’t deny he was intrigued. As he pulled into the mall’s parking lot, he said, “I guess I could give that a whirl.”

* * *

During their excursion, Lindsay bought a CD of the song and dragged Gob into her room to listen to it. “Trust me, you’ll love it. And you should  _ totally _ learn it so we can sing it at Christmas!” Lindsay squealed excitedly. She was the sibling most interested in the sing-along ever since the tradition started a few years ago, back when Gob realized he could play music by ear and his mom immediately capitalized on that for Christmas sing-alongs. 

“That’d actually be fun,” Michael said.

Michael was probably the least enthused out of everyone, almost as annoyed by it as their father, which was saying something. If this song would make  _ him  _ join in a sing-along, well, “Guess I really need to learn this song.”

Lindsay finally unwrapped the CD and put it in her stereo. She sat on her bed and pressed play while Gob looked down at his lap, trying to really pay attention to the song. He needed to if he wanted to play it by ear.

[It was very piano-heavy from the start,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9jbdgZidu8) which Gob appreciated. And as soon as the guy started to sing, he laughed. He was clearly slurring his words as if he was drunk. It was all weirdly melancholic, all slow and everything, despite it being Christmas Eve in the song, which he kinda liked. It really fit the whole mood he’d been in since he got back from camp.

But then the song picked up all of a sudden, sounding…Irish? Scottish? He wasn’t sure which, but definitely not American. A woman started to sing and Gob nodded his head to the beat, just trying to follow along to the words. It was hard to catch every word, both with the accents and the slurring from the guy, but Gob managed to catch a lot of it. 

_ The boys of the NYPD choir were singing ‘Galway Bay’ _ _   
_ _ And the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day _

“This next verse is the best,” Lindsay whispered, even though she knew Gob hated talking when he was first listening to something. He shot her a look, but did his best to pay attention to the words even more.

_ You’re a bum, you’re a punk— _ _   
_ _ You’re an old slut on junk! _

Gob laughed. That wasn’t the sort of thing you expected at all from a Christmas song. He liked it.

_ You scumbag, you maggot _ _   
_ _ You cheap lousy faggot _

Gob felt his whole body freeze as Lindsay laughed along with those words, obviously not thinking anything of it. Suddenly he couldn’t follow anything else that was being sung in the song, everything else was just noise. All he could think of was what that word meant, did that mean the  _ song _ was, you know,  _ not straight? _ Did it mean  _ liking _ the song was gay? That the character was gay? Or was it just so bad to be gay that calling the guy that was the worst thing the woman could say?

And how was he supposed to react normally to it? What would he have done a year ago? Would he have laughed like Lindsay? He hadn't known he was gay, so maybe he would’ve just found it funny.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe Gob didn’t know he was gay back then, but he knew something wasn’t  _ normal _ about him. There was something off, something wrong, something that wasn’t clicking about him, and, maybe, deep,  _ deep _ down, he knew what the answer was. Maybe he had known longer than he could admit to himself that he was gay. But it took Seth kissing him for Gob to really confront that part of him.

So, maybe he wouldn’t have laughed. Maybe he would’ve felt as uncomfortable as he did right then.

But he probably wouldn’t have felt like throwing up like he did at that moment.

“So, what did you think?” 

Gob looked up. The song was over. When did it end? Had he been sitting there with his thoughts for too long? Was it obvious he had been affected? If he said he hated it, would they know it was because of that line? Would they know how those words were eating inside at him, crawling under his skin and making him feel sick to his stomach?

He couldn’t let them know. He could  _ never _ let them know.

Gob slowly blinked a few times. “…It was okay,” he finally said. His siblings were used to him being snobby about music, so he was sure they couldn’t be surprised by that answer. And, if they were, Gob shut them up by saying, “I’ve gotta go practice.”

* * *

Gob found himself practicing more and more. While the regional audition he had done earlier that month plus his trip to New York covered almost every school he had applied to, he still had a couple auditions left. But, of course, there was another reason he had to keep practicing.

All he could hear were those eight words over and over and over again.

_ You scumbag, you maggot! You cheap, lousy faggot! _

It was dumb, it was stupid, it wasn’t something to freak out about. It was just a dumb, stupid song that used the word  _ once. _ But it was a dumb, stupid song that wouldn’t leave his fucking  _ head. _ Gob was always good at learning music. It was easy for him to hear a simple song and sing the melody or even play it back on the piano from just one listen. 

He had never regretted that skill until he heard that fucking song.

It didn't help that Lindsay was still playing that song on and off in her room. Gob would try to play to drown it out, but he didn't want to make her suspicious. He couldn’t admit he hated the song or else she could totally guess why, right? 

So, instead, he tried to tell himself it was dumb to freak out about it. It wasn’t like those words were about him, even if he was a, you know…the f-word thing. It didn’t mean he was the rest of those things! He wasn’t cheap—he loved expensive things, after all—and he wasn’t lousy—he was good at piano, so he couldn’t be  _ that _ lousy—and he wasn’t a bug—yes, he knew it was a metaphor or whatever, but he wasn’t one—and he wasn’t a scumbag, either. So, really, he needed to calm down.

But then his first college letter came.

It was from Oberlin College, a school even Michael hadn’t seemed enthused for him to apply to, but they were one of the ones with a regional audition, so Gob thought, well, screw it. He might as well, right? Ohio sucked, and it seemed like a geek school, but it was worth getting out of town, right?

But it was a thin letter, something Michael said grimly when it came in.

“Mom says no one’s thinner than a winner,” Gob pointed out. She mainly said it to Lindsay when she dared to have more than one serving of food, but still.

“It doesn’t really work like that for college letters,” Michael said delicately.

Gob opened it up with a frown, the frown only growing when he read the words Michael already knew were in there.

After a moment he cleared his throat and said, “Whatever. They’re a dork school, anyways.” And with that, he tore up the letter into several small pieces and watched it fall to the kitchen counter—

It looked just like Seth’s contact info did when he tore it up. The pieces of paper that still sat on his bedside table next to his alarm clock in a desperate hope they’d somehow fit back together again.

Gob felt sick to his stomach.

“…I’m gonna go practice,” he said as an excuse to leave the kitchen.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He thought about it all throughout dinner, throughout the Claymation special Buster made them watch, and even as he brushed his teeth before bed.

God, why had he even applied to Oberlin? He had no interest in going to a geek school in the middle of nowhere in fucking  _ Ohio. _ He  _ knew _ he didn’t have the grades or test scores for it. He knew no matter how great he was on the audition—which was fucking  _ great, _ by the way—he wouldn’t get a chance to audition live because of all of that. He had just gotten so caught up in all of his hopes of getting far, far away from Newport Beach that he couldn’t even think of refusing to apply to any schools he got brochures from at SAA. But, yeah, he knew Oberlin wasn’t where he was meant to be.

So why did it hurt so much to get rejected from them?

Well, the fact that it was his first rejection stung. It was his first college rejection, but also his first rejection on piano. He’d always scored so high in competitions and impressed people with his abilities and got compliments at his piano studio’s recitals and he got into SAA and won the piano spot in the concerto competition…and now there was finally someone saying he wasn’t good enough to play for them.

Part of him fought against that. Part of him said fuck Oberlin and fuck their pretentious school and  _ fuck _ Ohio—not that anyone would want to fucking fuck  _ Ohio _ of all fucking places.

But even  _ Ohio _ didn’t want  _ him.  _ He was too dumb. Not good enough at piano to make up for his grades.

And that was the only thing he was good at. So if he wasn’t good enough for Oberlin, he really was worthless.

Less than worthless.

He was scum.

A scumbag. A maggot. A cheap, lousy faggot.

Gob laid down on his side and saw the torn up remains of Seth’s contact information. At least the Oberlin rejection felt good to tear up. At least that was him rejecting a rejection from some lame school in Ohio instead of him being unable to just stay calm for  _ once _ in his life. Instead of hurting his chance at talking to the guy he maybe was feeling more than a crush for. Instead of possibly hurting the guy by never calling or mailing him without any explanation as to why…

Gob sat up. He had never thought about that. He had never thought about how Seth possibly missed him, too. How he probably wondered why he hadn’t written to him or called him. How he probably thought he didn’t care about him or that he had just been using him. Gob had probably hurt the person who had changed his whole life and opened his eyes and gave him the best summer of his life.

God. He really  _ was _ a scumbag, a maggot, a cheap, lousy—

This time he couldn’t play piano to get those words out of his head. If he even tried, even his mom wouldn’t defend him because of how late it was. He had to get them out  _ somehow _ though.

And that was how Gob fell back on the old Bluth strategy: alcohol.

* * *

Christmas Eve was Gob’s actual favorite day. He normally said it was Christmas itself, but Christmas Eve had the build-up and usually it was the wildest of the nights in the Bluth house—and not just because that was the night they watched Santa’s arm get blown off. But that was when they’d do the sing-along and watch movies and his mom would make that amazing punch, and it would all build up to the actual holiday in the most beautiful way. 

And that Christmas Eve, Gob spent it completely  _ hammered. _

Well, mostly hammered for most of the day. He got an early start, making a cranberry mimosa with the excuse that the cranberry juice was holiday-themed. He did a round of shots with Lindsay later on in the afternoon. He finished off a bottle of vodka with his mom because, after all, it went bad if it was left out too long. He even convinced Michael to have some rum in his eggnog, satisfying Michael’s sweet tooth and Gob’s need to drink all day.

Finally, the cider his mom made was ready, and Gob indulged in it. Heavily. Like, so much so that, by the time they finished watching the Grinch and went to the living room for the sing along, he actually felt a little drunk. Not tipsy, like he usually got on Christmas Eve, but actually really,  _ really _ drunk.

Like, so drunk that he was afraid for a moment he wouldn’t be able to play.

But he was Gob Fucking Bluth so, yeah, he did fine. He maybe wasn’t as with it as he had been the previous years, but his mom was as wasted as him, so it wasn’t like  _ she _ noticed that he wasn’t changing keys to match when her pitch started to falter and she went flat or sharp. Same with Lindsay. Buster couldn’t tell when Gob messed up, and neither could Michael. Michael knew nothing about music. Michael was drinking and just there because he was forced to be. Michael didn’t understand how fun this was supposed to be, how important it normally was to Gob. Michael couldn’t tell that anything was wrong.

The one person who always knew when something was wrong with Gob couldn’t even notice.

But it was because nothing was wrong. It was okay to be drunk. It was okay he spent the whole day drinking. He had just done most of his college auditions, he deserved a break! It was the holidays! He was allowed to just have some fucking  _ fun _ for once!

And who cared if that fun came straight from the bottle?

Finally, sometime after their mother had disappeared to go to bed, Lindsay said, “Gob, Gob, Gob, Gob—the song! Please? The Fairytale one—can you do that?”

And, even with how drunk Gob was, he knew denying her that would make him look bad and make her suspicious. He never denied any Christmas song request; he couldn’t deny hers all of a sudden.

So, after some thought, his fingers somehow placed themselves on the right keys and he played the song she had continuously blasted in her room.

_ “It was Christmas Eve babe in the drunk tank,” _ Gob sang along with Lindsay, both of them slurring as much as the original. _ “An old man said to me, Won't see another one.’ And then he sang a song, the Rare Old Mountain Dew. I turned my face away and dreamed about you…” _

He did falter a bit when the song sped up, but he managed to find himself, and Lindsay was just laughing a little, not bothered at all. She naturally sang the girl’s lines and Gob sang the guy’s part, occasionally hearing Michael mumble-singing along with him. 

Then the words happened.

Gob was honestly amazed he didn’t mess up at that part, even with how drunk he was, even with how much those words hurt, and even with how much worse it felt to hear his own sister saying those words. Even with all of that, Gob kept playing.

Too bad fucking Oberlin didn't see that and realize how good he was for playing on despite hearing those words thrown at him. They didn't know _who_ they were passing up on.

Though he still might've skipped over singing the chorus that time. And he may have slowed down just slightly  to croak out,  _ “I could’ve been someone…” _

_“Well, so could anyone,”_ Lindsay sang back, almost _mocking_ him. Mocking him for his dream, for his chance, his last hope of escaping his situation and being fucking _happy._ _“You took my dreams from me when I first found you…”_

After wrapping up the song, Gob felt a lump form in his throat. That song really  _ was _ about him, wasn’t it? Some loser who thought he could make a living from music but was clearly thrown in jail on Christmas Eve, because what else would he be good for? A guy who hurt someone he so clearly loved for no reason. A scumbag, a maggot, a cheap, lousy faggot.

Because, no, he wasn’t just a regular faggot. Oh, no, he was  _ definitely _ a lousy one. How could he not be? He was so bad at being gay he couldn’t even handle having Seth’s phone number or mailing address on him with his family around. He was so bad at being gay he thought he got AIDS from his first time when the guy was a  _ virgin. _ He was so bad he was having a breakdown about the word showing up for less than a second in some dumb Christmas song.

“I think that song’s like…my Christmas theme song,” Gob slurred. Lindsay and Michael, clearly too far gone to follow his tone, just laughed.

Lindsay grinned. "Told you you'd love it."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Michael woke up to the sound of rushing footsteps. He squinted in confusion as he realized he’d fallen asleep on the couch in the great room. He definitely had too much to drink.

Well, not as much as Gob, though. His brother had been actually  _ drunk, _ which Michael wasn’t sure he had ever seen. Maybe once or twice at one of the parties he’d thrown at their home, but it had never been  _ that _ bad. 

And as he heard the sound of vomiting from bathroom down the hall, he realized it may have been worse than he had thought.

Michael sprang up, his eyes wide as he ran over only to find that, yep, Gob was the one bent over the toilet, actually  _ throwing up. _ From being  _ drunk. _ Gob  _ Bluth. _ Michael didn’t think that was possible; even just a few days shy of sixteen, Michael had thought it was impossible for any Bluth to get physically sick from drinking. Even their  _ mother _ didn’t. How much alcohol had he _had?_

“Gob?” Michael asked cautiously when he seemed to be at a stopping point.

Gob wiped his mouth and looked behind him, his face red in a way that made it clear he’d been crying. He quickly looked away from Michael in embarrassment. “Go away,” he mumbled. God, he was such a fucking  _ pussy. _

“Gob?” Michael turned at the sound of his twin’s voice.

“Go  _ away,” _ Gob said louder that time.

Lindsay was clearly still a bit drunk herself and fired back, “Don’t yell at me ‘cause you’re a fucking pussy.” 

“I had more than you, you fucking  _ bitch—” _

“You need to wash your fucking mouth out—”

“Are you really yelling at  _ me _ about  _ my _ language?”

“No, I mean because you threw up, you dumbass,” Lindsay huffed. Gob and Michael looked at her and she slurred, “You need to get the stomach acid or whatever off your teeth. Or you’ll get a lot of cavities and fuck up your teeth. Just swooshing some water helps.” She folded her arms across her chest and said, “I’d have a lot more cavities now if I didn’t do that.”

Gob didn’t get the meaning behind that but Michael sighed. “One problem at a time,” Michael muttered to himself. He looked over at Gob and said, “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you upstairs.”

It took a lot of effort for the twins to get their drunk and emotional brother up to his room, but they did it somehow. Lindsay made him swish some water in his mouth and Michael made him drink some more of it, and Gob looked ready to cry the whole time, which made no sense. Christmas was his favorite time of year; him being upset on the holiday made no sense. 

“Why are you upset?” Michael asked.

“‘M not,” Gob replied petulantly. “I jus’ drank too much. ‘M fine.” Before Michael could try again, Gob muttered, “Leave me alone. Wanna sleep.”

Michael opened his mouth to ask again, but Lindsay just put a hand on his shoulder. “Michael, come on.” After a moment, Michael sighed and nodded before following her out to his room, turning off the lights as he did so. Gob was probably too embarrassed from puking to say anything, anyways.

Gob turned onto his side, the light from his alarm clock illuminating the scraps of Seth's contact information. After letting it sit there for months, Gob finally reached forward, grabbed the small pieces of paper, and threw them into the trash can.

Even if he could get them to fit back together, Gob didn't deserve the chance to talk to Seth ever again.

* * *

While Gob wasn’t hungover the next day—to be fair, he was a Bluth, so it would’ve been pretty unlikely to begin with, but he had also thrown up all that alcohol anyways—he definitely wasn’t in high spirits, either. Both in the fact that he wasn’t as happy as he normally was on one of his favorite days of the year and in the fact that he wasn’t drinking as much. The night before had put him off a bit and he wasn’t feeling like indulging. 

Or being merry. 

Or being in fucking California.

But he went downstairs and opened gifts with his family. There was some nice sheet music in the mix, some CDs—even a cool one from Buster of all people—some tapes, a couple of posters for his room. And then Lindsay weirdly gave him a really nice but really thick and padded jacket.

At his questioning look, she said, “You know, for when you’re off in college in New York or wherever. You’re probably gonna end up somewhere cold, so I thought you might as well look good while you were freezing.”

Gob stared at her for a while and then the coat. “…I have to get into somewhere first.” She shouldn’t have spent her money on this—or their parents money or whatever.

Lindsay scoffed. “You’ll get into somewhere. How could you  _ not?” _

“…Oberlin didn’t want me.”

“It was just because of your grades, Gob,” Michael said. “Even  _ I’d _ have trouble getting into there.”

Michael had to just be saying that, right? “Really?”

“Yeah. They’re  _ really _ competitive on grades and test scores alone. Didn’t your counselor say to apply to conservatories for that reason?”

…Yeah, that was true.

“And who wants to be in  _ Ohio _ anyways?” Lindsay asked with a shiver.

“Especially the middle of nowhere, Ohio,” Michael said with a snort. 

Lindsay agreed. “God, imagine having to spend Christmas _there."_

“That’d be the worst Christmas possible,” Michael said with a shake of his head. “The poor kids who have to spend Christmas in Ohio…”

“Yeah, New York’s the much cooler place to spend it,” Lindsay said, beaming over at Gob. “And I bet you’ll end up there next year—but you  _ better _ come back down here for Christmas instead of actually living a full on ‘Fairytale of New York’.”

Gob looked between his twin siblings, both of them so sure he’d make it out of there and be someone. Suddenly, he felt like crying for a different, better reason.

“…Yeah. I’d much rather sing the song with you than live it,” Gob agreed with a small smile before trying on the jacket and seeing how it looked. And it looked  _ good, _ which was a good thing based on how much money Lindsay much have spent on it.

Well, at least his tastes proved that, even if he _was_ a scumbag and a maggot and a lousy faggot, at least he wasn’t a _cheap_ one on top of it.

Speaking of expensive things, Gob asked Lindsay and Michael, “Think mom and dad have any Dalmore we could ‘borrow’?”

Michael and Lindsay had never looked more twin-like as they slowly grinned at the idea. After a nod, Lindsay put a finger to her lips and snuck over to their parents alcohol cabinet and Michael went up to get the glasses for them to share their parents’ finest, most expensive scotch.

Gob smirked as he popped the hood up on his jacket, ready to get back into the Christmas spirit—both the emotional one and the alcoholic one. 

* * *

_ On bourbon, on vodka, on scotch and on gin  
_ __ Take me back, let the North Pole dancing begin  
_ It's my party I'll be naughty get more lit than a tree  
_ __ Put that elf on a shelf, Merry Christmas to me


	4. I'll Be Seeing My Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gob's first Christmas post-first Piano Man fic

**I’ll Be Seeing My Dad**

_I’m looking forward to Christmas  
_ _Though I’m not expecting a visit from Jesus  
_ _I’ll be seeing my dad  
_ _My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum  
_ _They’ll be drinking white wine in the sun_

[ -“White Wine in the Sun” by Tim Minchin, as performed by Kate Miller-Heidke ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqvHFxs4IQ8)

* * *

Seth had been pretty bummed having to spend his first Thanksgiving away from home. It had been fun finally getting all of the furniture and posters put together in his shared apartment with Gob and spending time with him, but he admittedly missed seeing his family like he always did on Thanksgiving. It didn’t help that he loved all the great food and neither he nor Gob knew how to cook any of it. They ended up making grilled turkey and cheese sandwiches which just wasn’t the same.

So, needless to say, he woke up on that Friday feeling a bit down. The fact that Gob wasn’t cuddled up next to him didn’t help matters, either; he really loved waking up with Gob nuzzled up against him. It was comfortable and made him all warm, both physically and emotionally.

Seth pulled himself out of bed with a groan and put on his glasses. He went into their living room, expecting to see Gob looking over a piece of music or something similar, but, instead, he found him stringing lights around the room, humming to music he was softly playing on the radio. It took Seth a moment to realize the lights weren’t the only thing in their living room. There was a small (fake) tree in one corner; boughs of holly were strung on the piano; a wreath was hung on their door; and Gob had even put little stockings next to the window, since it wasn’t like they had a fire place.

“Hey,” Seth finally said to make his presence known. “What’s all of this?”

Gob raised his eyebrows. “It’s Christmas decorations.”

“I know, but…when you said you bought decorations, I didn’t think it was this much.”

“It’s not that much,” Gob said with a sad sigh. “Back home, we get out these candles and our tree is _huge_ and our gardener puts lights outside the house, too. And we have the fireplace with the stockings and everything, like, _literally_ hung with care…but this will do until I go home.”

Gob wasn’t sure if he could call it home anymore, not with everything that had happened with his dad, and not when he lived in San Francisco, but, whatever. He was still excited to go back. 

“When do you go home again?” Seth asked. 

“The 22nd,” Gob said. He had been pretty upset that it was the soonest he could get off work since he was used to have multiple weeks off over the holidays, but, then again, “At least I don’t have to work again until a couple days before New Year’s—I fly back the 29th.”

“Right,” Seth said. They were both flying back that day, both of them ready and willing to share their first New Year’s Kiss, even if Gob was working the bar that night.

“I’m so excited to see everyone again,” Gob said. “Michael and Tracey and their kid—I bet he won’t be so wrinkly now.”

“Yeah, probably,” Seth agreed. Gob had managed to swing down to Newport Beach for the birth of his nephew, but he had ended up coming back earlier than planned. He claimed it was so he could work, but Seth knew that it was definitely because of something that happened with his father. Gob didn’t say what, but it wasn’t hard to tell.

“Lindsay’ll be there, too. We’ll probably have to talk about her big wedding in Boston, but at least she’ll be there,” Gob said. He laughed slightly and said, “I’m even excited to see Buster again. He’s somewhat more tolerable around Christmas. But, _god,_ my mom’s the _best_ around Christmas. I really can’t wait to see her.”

That made Seth raise his eyebrows. Of all the things he imagined to hear about Gob’s mother, it wasn’t _that._ He had only met her once and _he_ was intimidated by her. _“Really?”_

“Oh, yeah. She _loves_ Christmas. Where do you think _I_ get it from?” Gob asked. “It’s obviously not from my _father._ He’d work on Christmas Day if he could.” He made a face at the thought of his father, but quickly shook it off. He wasn’t going to focus on him. “But my mom loves all of the classic stuff. The old movies, the decorations, and all the music—God, I always forget how beautiful Bing Crosby’s voice is until I hear it again at Christmas, you know?”

Seth smiled. “Yeah. I get that.”

“We even started to do sing-alongs around the piano a few years ago,” Gob said, smiling to himself. “We do it during our parties. Like, the fun family one, not the dumb company one. We gather around and my mom’s the only one who really gets into it, but sometimes Lindsay does, too. And we just sing and I play and…and it’s fun.”

Seth couldn’t believe he was hearing so much innocent, sweet things about his boyfriend’s family. Almost everything Gob had ever told him about his family made him wonder how a social worker was never called in. But as Gob went on about their Christmas traditions, like watching _White Christmas_ and how his mom still filled their stockings as if Santa was there, his face lit up brighter than any Christmas lights they could put up in their apartment.

Or at least brighter than any lights they could _afford_ to put in their apartment.

“And, of course, we make this _delicious_ spiked cider. Like, I think the first time I got drunk with my family was at one of our Christmas parties,” Gob said.

Okay, _that_ sounded a lot more like the Bluths he had heard about.

"And sometimes we go to our beach house the next day. I might drive up there anyways—I miss good beaches and the _sun."_

Seth laughed and shook his head. After growing up in Michigan, San Francisco was perfectly warm to him, but Gob's biggest complaint had been how chilly it was. "I can't even imagine having a warm Christmas. I'd just hope for a white one every year."

Gob smiled at that. "Yeah…I wouldn't mind having that some day…" He thought about it and shrugged. "I'm excited to wear sandals again, though."

“Well, I’m excited you get to go home for the holidays,” Seth said. “It sounds like you’ll have a good time.”

“Yeah…yeah, I definitely will. Perry Como's right—[there's no place like home for the holidays](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYSczTW_jH4).” With that, Gob finished stringing the lights and plugged them in. And, much like Seth thought, the lights weren’t shining nearly as much as Gob’s smile was, but it was still a pretty display.

Seth wrapped an arm around him and teased, “I didn’t realize I was dating one of Santa’s elves.”

Gob immediately said, “Hey, I’m a _lot_ hotter than any of those elves.”

“True,” Seth agreed. After a moment of looking around, he said, “We should turn off the lights until night, though. Electricity bills."

Gob sighed. “You’re right.” Though it looked like it pained him, he did what he was told and Seth went to make breakfast.

After a few moments, Gob asked him, “Did I ever tell you about why my Uncle Oscar isn’t allowed at Christmas anymore?”

* * *

"Hey! Where's my nephew, huh?"

"No hello for your brother? Or at least a 'merry Christmas'?" Michael asked Gob.

"Yeah, yeah, hey, Mikey," Gob said, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. "Merry Christmas."

"You, too," Michael said. 

"But, seriously, where's the kid?"

Michael rolled his eyes at Gob. "He's at home with his mom; it's his nap time."

Oh, right. Kids needed that. Gob figured that was a good enough explanation and, after they picked up his bag from baggage claim, Gob followed Michael out to his car, though he spent some time just standing in the sun before getting into said car. He loved the warm, desert air.

"God, I miss the sun being this strong," Gob said, sighing happily.

Once he got in the car, he put on a radio station he knew played Christmas music and eagerly watched the scenery as Michael talked to him. Even though it was still bright out, he could see lights strung around the buildings as they got farther from LAX and closer to Michael's house—their old house, the house they shared during Gob's last two years of college. The house with Michael's baby there but, more importantly, _Gob's_ baby. 

After greeting Tracey, Gob all but ran to his baby, his piano, but then Michael reminded him about the napping baby and Gob (grumpily) held back from playing. He still ran a hand over the shiny, black surface and nearly bounced with excitement and anticipation. "God, I've missed you," he told her quietly.

Yes, the her being the piano.

Michael muttered, "I didn't even get an 'I've missed you.'"

"We're gonna make some beautiful music together," Gob continued murmuring to his piano, "yes we are. 'Cause I got a gig coming up!"

"Wait, what? You didn't tell me that!"

Gob looked over at his brother. "Oh, yeah. I got this job—it's nothing big, just a musical, _Side By Side By Sondheim_ —it's just two pianos for the whole show, no orchestra or anything." He shrugged. "It’s a bunch of Sondheim, obviously—some Bernstein, too, 'cause he helped write _West Side Story_. We start rehearsals in the New Year, so I really gotta practice it.” After a beat, he explained, “I can handle it, obviously, but it’s, uh, with the conservatory there, so, I don’t know, it might help me make some connections? So, I really wanna bring my A-game.”

To be honest, as excited as he was for the show, he felt kinda _lame_ for being excited. Logically, he knew that it would take time for him to be playing big halls or to have the success he wanted—and obviously _deserved_ —but it still sucked that he was mainly making money as a bartender and this was his first music gig since he moved away.

Still, Michael and Tracey both seemed excited for him, which was nice, and even suggested they come up for the show. "We'd love to see your place," Tracey said.

"Oh, yeah, it's actually not too bad. I mean, it's _awesome_ right now, 'cause I put up the lights and this little tree and everything, but we also finally got up the posters and some photos—I made a whole wall of album covers from my Queen collection. Seth loves Queen, too," Gob said, a goofy smile on his face. "Oh, and we just got this old upright from this church that was getting rid of it, and I re-tuned it and everything, so I'm doing the Freddie Mercury thing with the keyboard I bought before we got the piano. We're using the keyboard as, like, the headboard for our bed—"

Michael interrupted, "You're sharing a bed?"

Gob was confused. "…It's kinda what couples do…?" 

"You never told me that you guys were officially one," Michael told him. When Gob said he was moving up there with Seth, he had said he wasn't sure if they were going to be dating or just friends who hooked up/lived together. And Michael had never asked because he didn't want to push him—and because he had been a bit busy himself dealing with a maximum course load at school plus his new, pregnant wife and then the birth of his son.

"Oh…well, yeah. He's my…my boyfriend."

"I'd kinda assumed that," Tracey said with a smile, "but, still, I'm happy for you." Gob smiled that goofy smile again as he thanked her. Michael told him he was happy for him, too, but he still felt a bit of anxiety in his stomach at the thought of it. 

"It's really nice. I mean, we've known each other for, like, five years now? And…I don't know, I kinda always wanted to _really_ date him, but I wasn't sure he felt the same way, and now…now we can." Gob's smile got even brighter as he said, "And we don't even have to hide it up there, you know? There's all these gay places and bars and, like, a whole _neighborhood_ of people like…people like us." Despite everything, he ducked his head slightly. It was still weird talking openly about that stuff, even if he had been out to Michael for almost two years at that point and his brother had been accepting. It was still weird not having to hide how he felt.

Michael couldn't help but smile a little at how happy his brother looked, and he told him he was happy for him, too. But, still, he felt a bit of unease in his stomach.

Not because Gob was dating a guy or anything, but because he was _living_ with him already. What if it went bad? What if this Seth guy—who he had only met _once,_ by the way—hurt him like Dave had? How would they keep living together? What would Gob do? Michael had thought he could trust Gob's college boyfriend, Dave, since he seemed responsible and nice and into his brother, but then he had broken Gob's heart so much he had a full on melt-down. What if this Seth guy did the same thing?

"We should definitely come up to visit sometime," Michael said. "I'd like to meet him again. And we can take George Michael on the cable cars and stuff."

Gob nodded, but then, after a moment, made a face. "So, you're really sticking with that name, huh?"

* * *

Lindsay came over later that day, which Gob appreciated, since he didn't want to have to go down to Newport Beach and be around his dad. until it was absolutely necessary. Much like Gob had thought, they had to talk a lot about the wedding. 

Also, much like he had thought, George Michael was a lot less wrinkly and actually looked like a human being. He was cute. But he was also still kinda boring. Apparently three month olds couldn't walk or talk or even _crawl._ They put him on his stomach at one point in something called "tummy time" and Gob laid down on his own stomach facing him. George Michael's newest accomplishment was that he could push up onto his arms, but that was about it. Very boring.

But, yeah, he was still cute. And, yes, it was nice seeing the twins and Tracey and his nephew and playing his baby. It was all a great first day back, even if he missed Seth.

The next day was when things started to go bad.

It was the Bluth Company Christmas party and, since he was working part time there, Michael was obligated to go with his family. And he had managed to convince Gob to come, promising him that he could at least play piano like he did when he was younger. Then he wouldn’t have to socialize with his father or the boring employees. And, while Gob wanted to stay home and practice his musical stuff while George Michael was out of the house and couldn't be bothered by the noise, he remembered that there was usually a tip jar involved. 

So, Gob got into one of his suits and dutifully rode down to Newport Beach with Michael, going over his musical score during the ride. It was better than just sitting there dreading seeing his father.

Last time he had been in town, at the birth of his nephew, his father had only given him looks of contempt. Gob had hoped that after he had punched him in the face he’d have the decency to at least not look at him at all. He hadn’t spoken to him, either, which was both awful and a saving grace; Gob didn’t want to have to make conversation with him.

But when Michael announced that his son’s full name was George Michael Bluth, there was a discussion of what to call him. Gob had suggested, as a joke, Gob Michael, since he was obviously named after _him._ Michael insisted it was a family name. And then George Sr. said it'd be nice to have a George that could carry on the Bluth legacy. As if Gob wasn't worthy of the name—which his father had basically outright said his whole life, anyways.

It wasn’t the worst thing he had ever said about Gob, but it was bad enough that Gob knew worse things were to come. It was bad enough that Gob ended up leaving earlier than planned. Which was fine. George Michael was so little and wrinkly that it wasn’t a big deal and he needed to work and get some money anyways. His budget was already so tight as it was, especially after a whole lifetime of never worrying about money in the first place. He hadn’t realized how much alcohol cost.

When they got inside for the party, Gob was greeted by Lindsay and soon Buster and Lucille found them. Gob greeted them all but he was still tense, well aware that his dad was talking to some associates nearby.

His tension only mounted when his father came by to greet Michael with a firm handshake and pretended like Gob wasn’t even there.

Whatever. Gob went to where the keyboard was set up, a little relieved to find there was still a tip jar on there. He was taking off a lot of work, after all, and had passed over some holiday gigs, so he could _really_ use the extra money. So, he started to play in earnest, putting his all into the performance, taking requests and actually enjoying himself. He loved Christmas music, no matter what the setting.

And while it wasn’t _much_ money, at least it was something. And at least it was money he made by doing what he loved and wanted to do as a career, not as a bartender.

But then, once the party was over, Michael was trying to give him a check.

“This is how much we usually pay the pianists—I looked it up,” Michael said.

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Come on, Gob, you played for us. You should get paid for your work.”

“But it’s a family thing; you don’t charge family.” That was something he had heard so many people say and it seemed fair to him. "I didn't charge you for your wedding and I've never been paid for this before. This is a family thing—"

“It’s a business thing,” Michael said. “It’s the company. It may be the family company, but it’s still a business and not the family itself.”

Gob looked at Michael and then the check in his hand. He knew logically that this was Michael trying to help him out financially. Michael knew that, while he and Seth were surviving, they were still struggling.

But between his dad ignoring him and Michael handing him money, it was like he wasn’t even family anymore. He hadn't wanted to socialize with the employees or anything, but he had still seen Lindsay and Tracey and Michael and Buster talking to each other while he was playing. They had been a family. And he was just the pianist they were paying to keep around. He was just an employee, probably some sort of charity case they could use as a tax write-off.

But, again, Gob really needed the money.

After a few more moments, Gob took the check and mumbled a thanks to Michael. Michael clapped him on the shoulder and said he did a good job, and Gob looked up just in time to see his dad looking at him with contempt yet again.

* * *

Christmas Eve started out fine enough. Everyone was going to spend the night at the Bluth household and, even with the whole being in close proximity with his dad thing, Gob was excited to be back in his childhood bedroom. He loved snuggling up against Seth, but having his huge, king-size bed meant he could stretch out, which was _also_ nice. And his mom had paid people, as usual, to decorate the house to perfection, everything looking like it was straight out of a Christmas catalogue. It was truly starting to feel and look like Christmas.

It was early in the afternoon when they got there and settled in, so they still had some time before they’d start really celebrating. As they waited for the festivities to begin, they turned on the TV and found a station playing _Meet Me In St. Louis._ Lucille eagerly put it on and the whole family gathered around to watch it.

While _Meet Me In St. Louis_ was a classic, it was also _long._ And, as gay as he was, Gob couldn’t make himself pay attention the whole time. He did his gay duty by at least watching most of the scenes Judy Garland was the focus of, like [“The Trolley Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwP6kNIDg30)” and everything, but he spent most of his time studying his Sondheim score and making notes on everything.

Finally, thankfully, they neared the end, and Judy started to sing her classic, beautiful Christmas song. Gob was, like everyone else, at full attention. It was amazing how a scene with nothing fancy at all, [just Judy Garland talking and then singing to her crying sister](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CreWsnhQwzY), was so captivating and moving. 

God, he hoped some day he could make music like that, music that would completely grab everyone’s attention like that. He wanted to perform in a way where everyone would be completely enraptured. 

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas_  
 _Let your heart be light  
_ _Next year all our troubles will be out of sight…_

Gob smiled softly as the song played. It was one of his favorite Christmas carols.

 _Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
_ _Make the Yuletide gay—_

Gob had forgotten that line.

While everyone was trying to put on an air of normalcy, the tension was palpable. George, who had been persuaded to watch the movie, was gripping tightly to the arms of his chair, his gaze burning a hole into the wall behind the TV. Lucille was acting like nothing had happened, but there was a look in her eyes that made it clear the line had a different meaning for her that year than it normally did. Lindsay looked like she was torn between laughing out of what could be a great joke and out of sheer awkwardness. Tracey was watching the room with nervous eyes. And Michael was staring at the remote, as if debating if he should turn it off. 

_Here we are as in olden days_ _  
_ _Happy golden days of yore_

Yeah, Judy had that one wrong. While things had been tense between Gob and his father for years, it had never been _that_ bad. Gob felt claustrophobic, like everything was suffocating him.

 _Faithful friends who are dear to us_ _  
_ _Gather near to us once more_

Gob looked at the room. Instead of feeling the warmth of Christmas and a room full of family, he just felt anxious anticipation, as if everyone was waiting for a confrontation. A confrontation that _he_ was the cause of.

Gob swallowed the lump in his throat stood up, and, totally breaking what had to be part of the gay code, left before Judy Garland had finished her song.

* * *

Once alcohol was added to the mix, Gob joined the family again and everyone pretended like nothing had happened. And the traditions went on like usual, just with the sing-along before dinner, since George Michael had to start heading to bed soon after dinner. 

“I can’t wait to have one of these,” Lindsay cooed over her nephew at dinner. “Tobias and I are gonna start trying right away.” 

In a whisper to Gob, she added, “And my baby’s gonna be so much _cuter.”_

Gob didn’t get why Lindsay would want a kid at all—or why _anyone_ would, really. He figured she was just getting competitive with Michael, which was kinda dumb, but he knew better than to try to interfere with them on that.

“Is Tobias coming over at any point?” Gob asked. He still had only met the guy once.

“Oh, yeah, he’s coming over tomorrow. It’ll actually be his first Christmas—he’s Jewish,” Lindsay said proudly, like it was an accomplishment to have a non-WASP boyfriend.

Gob and Michael both raised their eyebrows at each other and then looked to their mother. Gob couldn’t imagine bringing home a Jewish boyfriend to _her._

Well, he couldn’t imagine bringing home any boyfriend.

As dinner went on, Lindsay talked ad nauseam about how happy Tobias made him and Michael and Tracey both fussed over their child, Gob felt another stab of isolation. He felt as happy as Lindsay did, but he couldn’t talk about that source of happiness, not unless he wanted to make everyone uncomfortable, like he had with his mere existence during “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”. 

“How are you doing in San Francisco?” Buster asked Gob at one point, looking at his brother with impressed eyes. He was the only one of the family who lived out of town, after all, and Buster was always impressed by his big brother.

“…I’m doing good,” Gob said. “Working a lot—mostly bar stuff right now. But I, uh, got this gig to play for a musical.”

Gob did his best to ignore his father’s snort over him playing for a musical. He knew that was even gayer to him than anything else Gob did. Probably even gayer than fucking his boyfriend on the regular. 

But it was harder to ignore the look on Buster’s face, a look of confusion over why his impressive big brother wasn’t playing in something bigger and better than some musical. Or maybe Gob had just imagined that look; maybe he was just projecting his own insecurities. Regardless, he still felt the need to quickly explain, “It’s pretty good pay and it’s Sondheim, so it’s cooler music than most musicals. And I think it’ll help me make some connections.”

Gob looked around the table for the mashed potatoes, desperately feeling the need for a second helping. Of course he found them next to his father and he held back a sigh before asking his dad if he could pass them over.

Yes, that was the first sentence he had spoken to him since he got into town.

…And his dad didn’t even look up.

“…Dad?”

His dad kept eating and Gob’s jaw tensed. Really? He couldn’t even pass food down to his son? What, was him handing them over going to turn him gay? Was he that fucking _petty_ over being punched by him?

Gob’s fist clenched as he wondered if he should teach his dad another lesson—

Thankfully, before he could do that, Michael took the potatoes and quickly handed them over to his brother. Gob took the bowl and loaded a spoonful on his plate, but he ended up not having a single bite of them. He wasn’t very hungry anymore.

* * *

Getting completely wasted on Christmas Eve helped Gob’s mood significantly. He woke up on Christmas Day feeling much better than he had for most of Christmas Eve. He eagerly opened his presents—relieved to find that everyone still remembered that he did _not_ want piano-themed gifts—and enjoyed seeing his nephew play with the wrapping paper more than any of the toys he got.

 _This_ was the real Christmas he loved. The lazy mornings laying around in his pajamas, drinking hot chocolate (the boxed kind with a hint of whiskey added for the Bluth touch), and listening to Christmas music as he talked with his siblings. Tracey, wanting to bring some of her family’s traditions, even made some breakfast foods that were much fancier than they usually had. It was just so nice and warm and Gob remembered why he loved Christmas so much.

So, Gob decided he wanted to call Seth. He knew it was risky doing that with his parents around, but he needed to wish him a Merry Christmas. 

He waited until his mom was occupied watching a Christmas movie so she wouldn’t eavesdrop. She had a tendency of listening in on too many of her children’s phone calls, regardless of which child it was. Michael agreed to make sure she stay occupied while Gob made his phone call and Lindsay agreed to keep a look-out at the kitchen door.

Once everyone was in place, Gob dialed the number he knew by heart and, after wishing Seth’s mom a Merry Christmas, Gob was handed off to Seth. “Hey, Gob.”

“Hey,” Gob said back, a big smile automatically forming on his face at hearing Seth’s voice. He even sounded lovesick, enough so that Lindsay looked back over at him. It was actually kinda cute seeing and hearing him like that. “Merry Christmas!”

The two of them talked for a little bit about what they were up to and how their trips had been. But, with the time difference and all, Seth had to leave after just a few minutes for his family’s Christmas dinner. It was kind of a bummer, but at least hearing him again was enough to cheer him up even more.

“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow?” Gob said.

“You better.”

Gob grinned again and said he missed him. “Have fun with your family.”

“You, too. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

As soon as he hung up the phone, Lindsay was at his side with a huge smile on her face. “You _love_ him?” she whispered excitedly. Obviously she knew they were together and serious, but she hadn’t realized _love_ had been said. It was still hard for her at times to wrap her head around the fact that Gob, who had grown up as a womanizing playboy, was even gay, let alone in a serious relationship.

Her smile only grew as Gob blushed and mumbled for her to shut up. “This is so _cute!”_ Lindsay squealed, nearly jumping with excitement. _“You_ are so cute— _both_ of you are so cute! I’m so happy for you!”

_“Lindsay—”_

“Look at all of us! Michael’s married with a _kid,_ I’m engaged, and now you’re in _looooove!_ This is _so_ exciting! Your first love!” 

Lindsay continued to tease him until they finally went back into the great room to watch the movie with their mom. Even then, she kept shooting excited glances as Gob as he focused on the musical score in front of him.

* * *

Ever since the Best Christmas Ever, AKA the Christmas where the kids got really fucking high, Christmas dinner had changed from an elegant affair to an excuse to order in Chinese and continue to drink before watching more Christmas specials. The main difference that year was the addition of a child and of Lindsay’s fiancé, Tobias.

Lindsay strategically placed her fiancé between herself and Buster so he wasn’t next to either parent, both of whom obviously still hadn’t warmed up to him. Michael sat across from Lindsay, both of them next to the head of the table where their father sat. Gob had chosen to sit across from Buster so he was next to his mom’s head of the table and as far from his dad as he could be. 

Tobias, hoping to get in George and Lucille’s good graces, had brought the Chinese food, but he had forgotten the sesame chicken, so he definitely wasn’t in _Gob’s_ good graces. 

The fact that he kept talking wasn’t much help for his cause, either. Gob decided to look over his sheet music once it became clear that Tobias was going to be talking for, like, the whole fucking time. His fingers moved against his knees as he looked through the score, itching to practice it on a real piano. Thank _god_ they were going to drive back up to Tracey and Michael’s place soon. He could play it on his baby then.

“So, Gob, you’re up in San Fran, right?” Tobias asked.

“Don’t call it that,” Gob said immediately. _No_ one called it that.

“Yes, he’s in San Francisco,” Lindsay said, shooting her brother a look to remind him to play nice. She gestured for him to look up from his music and, though he rolled his eyes, Gob left the score open on the table, but moved his gaze over to Tobias.

“Where abouts are you living up in the Bay?” Tobias continued, obviously unbothered by Gob’s comment. “The Castro? I love hanging out in that part of town, myself. There’s a grand fun crowd over there!”

Gob gave him a confused look. The Castro district was, like, the _official_ gay neighborhood. It was full of gay bars, rainbow flags, drag queens, sex shops, and every time the subway stopped there, almost every man in the train would get off there. Why was Tobias, who was engaged to his _sister,_ hanging out there? Or had Lindsay told him he was gay and Tobias was just trying to make him comfortable or something? He hadn’t thought Lindsay would actually tell anyone…

No one else seemed to catch any meaning at least, so Gob said, “I work there at one of the bars. It-it _is_ a fun crowd.” He smirked slightly. He may not have been single, but he didn’t mind seeing some of the guys in their short-shorts and harnesses and other club wear. “I actually live in Hayes Valley, though. My roommate and I found a good deal there.”

Buster grinned and said, “Do you mean your _giiiiirlfriend?”_

“What?”

“Aw, don’t try to confuse me, big brother!” Buster said gleefully. “I heard you and Lindsay talking about how you were in _looooove.”_ He tried to poke Gob teasingly from across the table and Gob knocked his hand away harder than necessary.

“Ah. Young love. It’s so great, isn’t it?” Tobias said, grabbing Lindsay’s hand. 

Gob felt all eyes on him. Even his _dad._

“I-I-I’m not—”

“What’s the young girl’s name?” Tobias asked. 

Gob stared at Tobias, not sure what to say. What _could_ he say? He couldn’t just say that he was dating and living with a guy who he was desperately in love with.

…Or could he?

It wasn’t like it was a secret that he was gay. Everyone knew—well, except maybe Buster and Tobias, but they didn’t count. Everyone else knew, so he could just say he was happy and in love with a wonderful man named Seth. Couldn’t he?

Gob rolled his shoulders back, trying to build up the courage. “Actually, I don’t have a girlfriend. I—”

The sound of glass falling over on the table next to him and a gasp of surprise from Buster stopped Gob in his tracks. His mother, who had been drinking white wine, had knocked over her glass and the wine had spilled onto his score. 

“Shit!” Gob grabbed his napkin and quickly got the score off the table and started to pat it down in a panic, Tracey trying to help him as well. It was a rental and it had all his notes in it and what if the pages stuck together and what would the conservatory think if he showed up with a score that smelled like wine and—

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Lucille said, sounding rather calm despite having spilled alcohol, something that was _not_ like spilled milk to her. Gob looked over at her. She definitely didn’t look sorry. She merely poured herself another glass of wine.

“Lindsay tells us your Jewish,” Lucille said to Tobias, officially changing the subject. “You aren’t planning on a Jewish ceremony, are you?”

Tobias looked a bit surprised by the change in subject, but started to answer the question anyways.

Gob heard a small chuckle and looked over at his dad. He was smirking slightly as he continued to eat. Gob looked back to his mother and, was it his imagination, or was she smirking, too?

Had she done that on purpose? Was she stopping her son from talking about his boyfriend? Had she really, _really_ been that uncomfortable with the subject that she had possibly ruined his sheet music, risked breaking her wine glass, and, the biggest sin of all, wasted alcohol?

Gob felt sick to his stomach. He expected that from his dad, but he thought his mom was above that. He thought she was more than that. He thought he had at least one parent who didn’t hate him for who he was.

Without another word, Gob got up from the table and went upstairs.

* * *

Michael found Gob in his bedroom with Lindsay’s hair dryer in his hand on full blast as he tried to dry out his score, his back to the door. When Michael tapped his shoulder, Gob turned the hair dryer off and looked over his shoulder.

“How’s the score?” Michael asked.

“Wet,” Gob said flatly. “Some of the staves are warped. Some pages are sticking together. I’ll definitely have to pay to replace it.” He looked away from Michael and back at the score. “Great way to start out on the right foot.”

“Will it be expensive?” Gob shook his head. “…Let me help pay for it, anyways.” Gob didn’t protest, but he didn’t say yes, either. He didn't say anything at all.

Michael looked at Gob’s back, feeling completely helpless. He had no idea what to say or do. It was obvious that their mom had done that on purpose, just to stop him from talking about that part of his life. Maybe his mom hadn’t intended on possibly ruining Gob’s first professional gig in the process, but she had definitely done that as well in one fatal move.

He wished there was something he could do, some way to fix things. He wished he at least could tell his parents off, but they were still supporting him. Not just him, but his family—his son and his wife. He needed to be on their good side and he needed that part time job his dad had given him and for them to still pay for his college and everything. If he pissed them off, he'd be a college drop-out with a family he couldn't support. At least in his current position, he could help Gob financially. And, at least that night, he could help get him out of there.

“…Tracey and I thought we’d leave in about half an hour so we can get George Michael to bed,” Michael finally said. “I know it's kinda early, but do you think you’ll be ready to go home then? I think we all kinda need it.”

It took a few seconds, but Gob nodded. “Yeah…yeah, I need to go home.”

“Yeah, okay. Just give us a few—”

“No, Michael,” Gob said as he turned around, his eyes wet and red. “I need to go _home.”_

* * *

Gob shivered as he listened to the phone ring and ring and ring. When he finally heard the sound of a human voice, he smiled, only for his heart to sink in his chest as he realized it was a recording.

_Hi, you’ve reached the Evans residence. Please leave your name and number after the beep and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can!_

There was a short pause before the beep. “Uh, hey, Seth. It’s Gob. J-just wanted to let you know that, uh…I got offered some more hours and it’s higher pay because of the holidays so…so if you need me you can call—I mean, you d-don’t have to. Not when you’re with your family or anything. But, yeah, you can call me at home. In San Francisco. Love you…Bye.”

Gob hung up the phone and looked around his empty, cold apartment. The apartment that was going to be empty for several more days. The apartment he had decorated so joyfully. The apartment that apparently was his new home now.

Gob half-heartedly turned on the Christmas lights and played one of his Christmas mixtapes. Before pulling a blanket around himself, he pulled out the bottle of tequila he had bought on the way back from the airport. He shouldn't have spent the money he had gotten from playing at the Bluth Company party, but he knew they didn't have any at home. He opened it up as he lightly sang along to Perry Como.

_Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays  
'Cause no matter how far away you roam   
If you want to be happy in a million ways   
For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home! _

Gob snorted and took a swig of tequila. Perry Como didn’t know shit.

* * *

 _I really like Christmas  
_ _It’s sentimental, I know…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is one of the angstiest ones lol. The next one will be very fluffy and then there'll be some angst again but then mostly fluff. Y'all know me - I can't help but be fluffy. And, as noted, this song is a cover, yes, but I'm completely in love with Kate Miller-Heidke (hence my current icon and the [whole Blunder playlist I made of just her songs](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0eLcwTohIKnnghToCpJI4n?si=riIqZdGqQ9KB0nK2-sS4nw) since she TOTALLY ships them) and this version of the song just like…kills me.
> 
> I do hope people are reading this and enjoying it though! <3


	5. The Snow Will Make This Christmas Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gob's first Christmas away from home (an expansion of his first Christmas with Seth, briefly described in a flashback in [chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15911517/chapters/38819180) of the second Piano Man fic)

**The Snow Will Make This Christmas Right**

_The moon and stars seem awful cold and bright  
_ _Let's hope the snow will make this Christmas right  
_ _My friend, the world will share this special night_

[ -“Thank God It’s Christmas” by Queen ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qw2TD91Nytg)

* * *

Gob was nervous the whole plane ride to Michigan.

And it wasn’t because he hated flying. Flying was fine enough, really. But Gob was nervous because he was meeting his boyfriend’s parents. Technically for the second time.

Seth had promised Gob that his parents wouldn’t hate him. They liked him at camp, after all, and they were happy that Seth was happy and in love. But Gob was sure any goodwill he had earned at camp was lost when it became clear he had been sleeping with their son that whole time.

It also didn’t help that, despite Seth’s insistence that they’d love him, he had all these rules he wanted Gob to follow. Seth told him it wasn’t a _him_ thing, but more of a _his parents_ thing. They were a bit on the conservative side—not like Gob’s parents, Seth assured him, but in basically the opposite way of his parents. They were all moralistic and about ethics and shit like that. They didn’t swear, they didn’t get drunk at holidays, they were all charitable and whatever. 

Basically, they were good people, which meant they’d like him, but it also meant he could easily shock them with his stories. And his drinking. And his overall _energy._ Gob understood and he wasn’t hurt or anything, but it really didn’t help his nerves.

Once they got off the plane, Seth looked around until he found three people standing with signs, like they were drivers for him or something. The signs had both Seth’s _and_ Gob’s names on them. That was kind of nice of them.

Seth eagerly went over to them and Gob followed. He stood back as Seth greeted his parents and sister with hugs, smiling slightly at how happy they all looked.

Then Seth turned to him and gestured for him to say hi. Gob put on his best smile and tried to casually ask, “Hey, remember me?”

“Of _course_ we remember you!” Seth’s mom said. She pulled him into a hug, which Gob didn’t expect, but he definitely appreciated. “It’s so nice to see you again, Gob.”

“It’s nice to see you again, too, Mrs. Evans,” Gob said as they pulled apart.

“You can call me Linda.” Gob nodded.

Seth’s dad held out his hand and added that he could call him Bill. Gob nervously shook his hand; he was definitely the most nervous about meeting Seth’s dad again.

Then Seth’s little sister said, “You better remember me.”

“Well, you’ve grown a _lot_ since the last time I saw you,” Gob said in his defense. “But I definitely would never forget you, Rebecca.” She smiled at him and also hugged him before they went to baggage claim.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you guys.”

“It’s no problem. The more the merrier,” Linda said. Seth smiled and lightly nudged Gob’s side. See? They definitely didn’t hate him.

And they really didn’t Seth knew they were a bit awkward about him having a boyfriend still, but they were happy Seth was happy. And after he had explained Gob’s history with his dad and how the last year was so bad he went back to San Francisco early, she was nearly demanding that he spend the holidays with them.

So, with the ground rules in place and his boyfriend with a caring family, Seth was positive this would be a great Christmas.

* * *

Things got awkward almost immediately. Both of Seth’s parents flinched in surprise when, upon exiting the airport and getting into the cold air, Gob exclaimed, “Holy _shit_ it’s fucking _freezing.”_

While Rebecca snickered, Seth slapped his arm lightly and gave him a look and Gob gave him one back. What? Seth said his parents didn’t swear; he didn’t tell Gob that _he_ couldn’t swear. But after another look, Gob held back a sigh and said, “Sorry. It’s just really cold.” While he had the coat Lindsay had gotten him so many Christmases ago, it was still much colder than he was used to. Like as cold as that one time he went skiing. 

Once they were in the car, Linda handed them both a box with an illustration of some holiday scene and the numbers 1 through 24 on it. “You’ve got a lot of days to catch up on.”

“Oh, _sweet,”_ Seth said excitedly. “Thanks, mom.”

“Thanks,” Gob said, staring at it blankly. “…What is it?”

“It’s an advent calendar,” Seth said.

“A chocolate advent calendar,” Linda corrected.

Seth showed him how all the numbers had a piece of chocolate behind it. “You’re supposed to have one every day leading up to Christmas—1 on the first of December, the 2 on the second, and so on.”

“Ohhhh,” Gob said. “Cool.” He popped open one of the doors and ate the piece inside. It was pretty good. “I guess my family isn’t that into chocolate. We’re more into,” Seth held back a wince, sure Gob was going to say some form of alcohol, but he continued, “candy beans.”

Rebecca and Seth stared at him. “Candy beans?”

“Yeah.” Gob looked at them and his eyes widened. “Have you guys _never_ had candy beans? They’re these squishy things that look like beans and they come in all these flavors—”

“You mean jelly beans?”

“No, candy beans.”

Seth’s eyebrows pressed together. “Those are called jelly beans.” Rebecca nodded, and even Bill and Linda agreed.

“…Really? We always called them candy beans.”

“Must be a regional thing,” Seth said, even though he was sure every box he’d ever seen said jelly beans.

* * *

When they got to the house, Seth led the way up to his room so they could put down their stuff. Just as they were leaving the room, Seth’s mom popped up.

“I set up the guest room for you,” she told Gob cheerily.

Gob nodded at first and told her thanked her, but a split second after the words left his mouth, he faltered. Guest room? Like, not with Seth? He hadn’t realized that was part of the deal. 

Seth seemed just as surprised as him, too. He hesitated and looked at Gob. After a moment, he drew himself up and, fighting off all his Midwestern instincts that told him not to make a fuss, said, “Mom, Gob can sleep in my room. We live together; it’s what we’re used to.”

Linda seemed to be facing those same instincts. “I…Well, really—”

 _“Mom,”_ Seth said, firmer this time, “we sleep in the same bed at home. There’s no point having him sleep in another room. I’d really prefer if he didn’t.”

She still looked like she wanted to say no, but Rebecca stepped in to say, “Mom, you let married guests sleep in the same room all the time. If you’re only comfortable with them doing that if they’re married, you’re gonna be waiting a _long_ time.” 

That seemed to convince their mom. 

“Of course,” Linda said, though she still looked a bit awkward. “It’ll save me from having to wash those sheets right away.”

After Linda and Rebecca walked away, Seth told Gob, “My bed creaks too much for that, anyways.”

Gob shrugged and reminded him, “We’ve done it on the floor.”

“Hmm. Fair point.”

With that, Seth gave him a tour of the house. In little sister fashion, Rebecca made sure to point out the photos of Seth on the wall, which included some baby and young Seth ones. Seth rolled his eyes, even as Gob said they were _adorable._

They ended in their living room, which hosted both the piano and their Christmas tree. While there were already lights on the tree, the ornaments hadn’t been put up yet. They had apparently waited for Seth to help with that. Both he and Rebecca had their own separate boxes of ornaments they had collected over the years, from baby’s first ornaments to hand made ones in elementary school to ones they had bought at stores.

“I didn’t know they made ones like these,” Gob remarked as Seth started pulling out some of his. “My mom always hires people to put everything up, and they’re all, like, perfectly round and red and green and gold…” He’d never seen an ornament shaped like a _cello._

“Have you never even hung your own ornaments?” Once Gob shook his head, both Seth and Rebecca started handing him some to hang on the tree.

When Seth’s mom and dad came back in, they told them they did a great job decorating and Gob beamed. He was easily flattered, of course. They continued hanging them up, but Gob got distracted when Bill lit a fire in the fireplace.

“Woah,” Gob said, his eyes focused on the flames he put a screen panel in front of. “We only use our fireplace for hanging stockings. And for extra seating.”

While Bill and Linda both looked confused at that, Seth reminded them, “He’s from southern California; they don’t really need fires.”

“Yeah; we get enough forest fires.” Seth nodded and got Gob back to hanging ornaments.

Once they finished, Bill put the star on top and Seth said, “I love that I got here after it was already inside. I hate carrying it in.”

 _“Lazy,”_ Rebecca criticized. “We could’ve used your help.”

“You guys seemed to do just fine,” Seth said. “So fine I guess you guys can throw it out yourself after we leave.” 

"Very lazy," Bill agreed with her daughter. "But, fine, we got it without you."

"Yeah, we're strong," Rebecca said, playfully flexing her bicep.

Gob frowned; they got a new one every year? That seemed like a waste. His mom had used the same one since he was a kid.

Well, maybe getting a new one every year was why it smelled so good. “It smells so great in here. Like, all pine-y.”

“I’d hope it would,” Linda said with a small laugh.

“Yeah, just, like, whatever you’re using is _good._ My mom’s candles and sprays aren’t half as good.”

“Well candles and sprays can’t compare to the pine smell of the real thing.”

Gob frowned. “…What do you mean?”

Even Seth looked confused at Gob’s confusion. “…You know this is a real tree, right?”

Gob’s eyes slowly widened as he looked at the tree. “What the _fuck?!”_ He jumped back from the tree and while Seth’s parents were yet again startled, Rebecca didn’t both holding back laughter. He knew that the Rockefeller tree was real and stuff like that, but those were _outside._ His mom barely let them have trees in their backyard, let alone _inside the fucking house._

“How do you know there aren’t, like, squirrels in there?”

Gob kept his eyes on it suspiciously as Seth explained that the tree was from a specific place where they were grown just to be brought inside. There weren’t any birds or squirrels or bugs in there, they were all clean, and it was perfectly safe. 

After a few minutes, Gob nervously stepped forward and lightly touched the needles again, as if he hadn’t spent over half an hour decorating it earlier. He smiled a little and nodded. _“Wild,”_ he whispered. 

Seth looked between his family and his boyfriend and brought a hand to the back of his neck. Maybe this would be harder than he thought.

* * *

The next day started out better. Though Seth lightly teased Gob for wrapping a throw blanket around himself and whining about it being cold—”Again, he’s from southern California; he complains about it in _San Francisco,”_ Seth reminded his family—he was polite and warm with his family. His family, particularly Rebecca, enjoyed telling him embarrassing stories about Seth and bringing out Seth’s baby pictures. Gob told him it was only fair after all the dirt Michael gave him on his last visit up to see them. Seth figured it was worth it, since at least his family was openly embracing Gob into their home.

At dinner, Gob _did_ get a little bit annoyed when Seth told him he had enough alcohol after two glasses of wine. Was he really only allowed _that_ much? He’d have that on a school night in _high school_ for crying out loud. But Seth gave him that look and Gob knew not to complain, even if he was grumpy.

Hopefully he could get some Bailey’s later.

“So, Gob,” Linda started as they all sat by in the living room later that night, getting Gob to look away from the fireplace, “does your family have any traditions?”

“I don’t think the Bluths really have any big traditions,” Seth said quickly, giving Gob a look. 

“Honey, let him answer,” Linda said before turning back to Gob.

It would just be rude not to answer, right? Gob looked over at Seth and then back at Linda. “Well, uh…On Christmas Eve, there’s this thing called the Living Classics Pageant? It’s a big tradition in Newport where they, like, re-enact famous paintings. My dad’s always God and my baby brother is that naked guy? You know in that picture where they’re trying to touch fingers?”

“Oh…”

Gob shrugged, “I actually never cared about it past the string quartet. That was kinda cool. I was pretty excited that Michael and I were running late last year so we didn’t have to go.” 

“Well, anything else we can do?”

“…I play the piano while my mom and siblings sing carols.”

Linda smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“How nice it is depends on how drunk everyone is—particularly my mom,” Gob said nonchalantly. Not noticing the looks at that, Gob said, “Drinking is kinda the biggest tradition. The first time I got drunk was at a Bluth Christmas Party, like, ten years ago.”

Linda and Bill exchanged looks. “…And you’re _how_ old?”

Seth quickly said, “He’s 24—”

“I think so? But my parents eloped because my mom was pregnant with me and they hid me at the beach cottage for a while, so my birth certificate isn’t accurate,” Gob said as if that happened to everyone. “I told my brother not to do the same with his kid, even if he got married for the same sort of reason—well, he actually loves his wife. Tracey’s cool.” Gob looked at Seth for confirmation. “Right?”

“Tracey’s great,” Seth confirmed. “And I think it’s great for Michael to have someone like her. Someone… _different_ from your family.” 

“Definitely,” Gob said. He smiled at Seth, “Like you and me, right?” Seth nodded and squeezed his hand supportively. Rebecca smiled slightly at that; they were still cute, even if the drinking thing was a lot.

Linda seemed to think the same thing. So, trying to get back on track, she asked, “Well, are there any foods you do for Christmas dinner?”

“Mashed potatoes and turkey and stuff, basically like Thanksgiving. Our maid doesn’t work on Christmas, so we do it on Christmas Eve instead,” Gob said.

“What do you eat on Christmas Day, then?” Rebecca asked.

“Normally Chinese take-out. Oh, and Christmas cookies—Rosa, our maid, she always leaves some for us—though, god, one time, my Uncle Oscar came over, and…” Gob trailed off with a laugh—it was _such_ a funny story—and Seth looked at him, horrified.

“I don’t think they need to hear this—”

“What? Come on, it’s funny!” Gob said. Ignoring Seth’s protests, Gob said, “So, my Uncle Oscar is the biggest hippie _ever._ Like, he’s _always_ high. And one year he came over and he had a pot cookie and then ate all of _our_ cookies—on _Christmas Day!_ We woke up to no cookies and I was only, like, eleven or something, and I’m the oldest, so the other ones were _so young_ and all we knew were that we didn’t have cookies and we were _freaking_ out. So, when we heard that our uncle had ‘special’ cookies, we went to his room to find them. So, my siblings and I ate a bunch of them and we were, like, ‘These taste weird.’ But we were kids and they were cookies, so we ate them.” 

Gob laughed, and he didn’t realize no one else was laughing with him. “My baby brother, Buster, had to get his stomach pumped and my brother Michael got _super_ paranoid—a _total_ Michael move. But Lindsay and I just had a _great_ Christmas…” Gob laughed again and said, “That’s why our uncle’s not invited over anymore. And why we stopped having big Christmas Day dinners.”

None of Seth’s family seemed to know how to respond to that. Finally, Linda said, “That’s _terrible._ You poor things!"

Gob laughed. “Oh, no, that was, like, the _Best_ Christmas _Ever._ Lindsay and I still refer to it as that. The worst one was when we tried to stay up all night to meet Santa—”

“Gob—”

Gob ignored Seth and told the story about how his father had hired this man with one arm to teach them a ton of lessons and how he had seen Santa’s arm blown off and spurt blood in his living room one year.

“And that’s why you don’t stay up all night to try to see Santa,” Gob ended the story with a fond smile at the memory. When he saw their disturbed faces, he added, “Don’t worry, I know Santa’s not real; Michael told me that, like, years ago.”

Seth put a hand on Gob’s knee and gently told him, “I think that’s enough stories for now.”

* * *

Even Gob could tell it wasn’t really going well. Between his stories that had obviously made him sound like he was crazy—and he _wasn’t_ crazy—and how Gob felt tense around Seth’s father and how he still was freaked out about the tree being fucking real—who the _fuck_ did that _indoors_ of all places—it seemed clear that he wasn’t meant to be there. That combined with how bad last year’s Christmas had been made him less than jolly.

He was feeling down when he woke up on the 23rd, wondering if maybe he should just go back to San Francisco so he wouldn’t bring down anyone else’s Christmas. And, based on how the sun wasn’t shining through the window like it had the other mornings, it seemed clear to him that the weather agreed with him.

Well, he thought so, until he and Seth went downstairs for breakfast and he got a good look out the window into the backyard.

It was cloudy because it had _snowed._ And it was _still_ snowing.

Gob couldn’t stop himself from running over to the window, even as he hugged his arms around his chest from the draft. As he looked over the pure, fresh fallen snow and the snowflakes that kept falling down, he swore he could hear Bing Crosby singing in his head and, like Bing’s voice always did, Gob felt warm. Like, emotionally so. Physically speaking, he was still very much cold.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Seth asked as he went over to stand next to Gob. He nodded mutely in response. 

“Wait,” Rebecca said slowly, “you’re Californian, so…have you never seen snow?”

“I’ve seen it,” Gob said, still looking out the window. “It snowed a couple of times when I went to Juilliard. But that was in a city. And it wasn’t _Christmas.”_ He couldn’t stop himself from bouncing on his toes in excitement, like a kid on, well, Christmas. 

“Aw, your first white Christmas,” Seth said, smiling over at him. 

“It’s like the movie!” Gob said excitedly. “That’s my favorite Christmas movie. And one of my favorite Christmas songs—the Bing version, obviously.”

“Oh, I _love_ Bing Crosby. His voice is just so… _warm,”_ Linda said.

Gob turned to her with enthusiasm and told her, “I say the same thing!”

Seth looked between his mom and boyfriend with a smile as the two of them started to talk about all the Christmas songs they liked. Gob had a bigger knowledge of the classics than she had expected, and they seemed to really be connecting over that. It made Seth relax to see the two of them finally finding something to bond over. Gob’s energy was so contagious and he was so _adorable_ when he got excited that Seth could see how charmed his mom was.

“I, like, literally get what a winter wonderland means now,” Gob said as he looked back out the window a few minutes later. 

Seth chuckled. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a meadow, but this _is_ the weather where you could build a snowman.”

Gob turned to Seth with wide eyes. “…Could we?”

Seth raised his eyebrows. His boyfriend who claimed to be freezing in _San Francisco_ wanted to go outside during a snowfall in _Michigan?_

But he looked so sincere and excited and downright _adorable,_ that Seth just smiled and said, “Let’s find you some gloves.”

* * *

“Oh my god, it’s _cold,”_ Gob said. But unlike earlier on the trip, or even on some colder days in San Francisco, Gob was laughing as he said that. Even though he was wearing a sweater, coat, gloves, scarf, and hat, he was still _freezing._ But as he spun around with his tongue out to taste the snowflakes, he thought it was _totally_ worth it.

“Come on, babe,” Seth said, pulling at his arm. “Let’s go sledding.”

Gob’s eyes widened with glee as he followed Seth and Rebecca to a hill. They told him how they used to slide down it all the time on snow days back when they were little, but they hadn’t in years.

“Why did you stop?” Gob asked.

They both shrugged. “I guess snow days became less about playing in the snow and more about sleeping in and getting ahead on homework and stuff,” Rebecca said.

Gob didn’t get it.

He _especially_ didn’t get it once they went down the hill. Though he ended up slipping onto his side and, at one point, he fell out of completely, he was laughing the whole time. The snow was soft to land against, so it wasn’t like it hurt or anything.

 _“Fuck_ that’s fun,” Gob said.

They eventually moved onto building a snowman. Neither Rebecca or Seth had done that in years, either, but Gob’s spirit was contagious and as he sang “Winter Wonderland”, they found themselves singing along. While their creation didn’t have the corn cob pipe or button nose Gob had heard sung about so much, they found some twigs to make fake arms.

“The best version of ‘Frosty’ is totally [ the Beach Boys’ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Mi5IbqRgHc) version, by the way,” Gob said firmly.

“Yeah, nothing says snowman like a bunch of Californians,” Seth joked.

“Hey, you’re becoming a Californian yourself,” Gob pointed out. 

Seth blinked a few times. He _did_ have the license and everything and he was loving the fog and the city life and the casual attitude of San Francisco living…maybe he had a point.

Gob decided that he wanted to try a real snow angel and ran off to a part of the yard that hadn’t been touched yet. Seth and Rebecca watched, Seth smiling the whole time. “He’s cute,” Rebecca told him. 

“Yeah, he is,” Seth agreed.

“Totally nuts, but cute.”

Seth narrowed his eyes at her and she raised his eyebrows back. Seth rolled his eyes but nodded. “Yeah, true. But, can you blame him? You’ve only heard a _fraction_ of his family's stories.”

“No, yeah, it’s totally not his fault.” She looked at her brother and said, “I think you’re helping him.”

“Yeah,” Seth agreed. “And he keeps me young.” Though it made both of them laugh, it was true; they both felt younger than they had in years. 

Gob soon pulled himself off the ground and ran back over to them. “…That might’ve been a mistake. That was _really_ cold,” Gob said.

“Let’s go inside, babe; the snow will be here for a while,” Seth said. Gob nodded and they walked back towards the house, the sleds trailing behind them.

“Your nose is all pink,” Gob told Seth’s as they got closer to the house. 

“Yours, too,” Seth said.

“Yours is cuter, though,” Gob teased.

Seth crinkled his and said, “Nah, yours is.”

“Let’s call it a tie,” Gob said, crinkling his nose back before lightly rubbing the tip of his against Seth’s.

Rebecca watched them with a smile. They definitely _were_ cute and _totally_ in love.

Still, she told them, “Get a room.”

“We already have one,” Seth fired back.

Once they were inside, there was a fire already waiting for them and, on top of that, Linda made them hot chocolate with whipped cream. And it was _so_ good.

“This is the _best_ whipped cream I’ve ever had,” Gob said honestly.

Linda looked flattered. “Thank you. It’s homemade.”

Gob’s eyes widened. “You can _make_ that stuff? But I thought you needed the can—or can you buy a can to put it in?” How did it get all fluffy without the air from the whipped cream canister.

“The can’s not necessary,” Seth told him.

“Woah…” Gob smiled and had another sip. “And there’s seriously no whiskey in this?” He hadn’t seen any whiskey in their limited alcohol supply.

“No.”

Gob nodded. “It still tastes _great.”_

“Glad to hear it,” Linda said.

“I don’t think I ever had it without whiskey,” Gob said. 

“Maybe when you were little,” Seth suggested.

Gob shook his head. “No. My mom would slip whiskey in my hot chocolate to get me to sleep. That started when I was, like, five.” Even Seth looked horrified at that; that was a new one. “In her defense, I’m an _awful_ sleeper.”

Seth ran a comforting hand up and down Gob’s back while Rebecca shook her head. She was very happy for her brother and very happy Gob had all that support, but, god, she was _so_ glad to not be dating a Bluth.

God help her if she ever did.

* * *

The rest of the holiday was _perfect._ They did more snow activities on Christmas Eve before Seth went inside to practice on his old rental cello. As he practiced, Gob got to help decorate Christmas cookies, something he had never done before. He went to a Christmas Eve church service with them and sang carols, all of it leading up to the whole congregation singing “Silent Night” a capella in a circle, everyone holding a candle. Gob wasn’t religious at all—and apparently the Evans were more of a Christmas and Easter only Christians—but it was a beautiful ending to the day.

On Christmas Day, they woke up early and, hanging out in their pajamas, they opened presents. Gob was touched that they had gotten him anything at all, and it wasn’t just piano-themed merch like he would’ve assumed. Seth, who had gotten more comfortable with showing some affection in front of his family, even kissed him in front of everyone after he opened a vintage Queen tour shirt. It made Gob blush and duck his head, which Linda and Rebecca didn’t comment on but both found extremely cute.

They even indulged Gob in one of his traditions—the carols. They all flattered him as they complimented him on his ability to play by ear—it was still new to them, unlike to his family. They sang through some traditional ones and he had to say he and Seth also did quite the performance of Bing Crosby and David Bowie's duet, ["Peace on Earth / The Little Drummer Boy"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADbJLo4x-tk). While Gob still missed the alcohol, he still ended up having a great time watching _White Christmas_ and their other Christmas specials completely sober.

Talk about a Christmas miracle.

“You know,” Gob quietly told Seth as they watched _Frosty the Snowman,_ “this really might be the best Christmas ever.”

“Better than the pot cookies?” Seth whispered back.

Gob thought about it. “…It’s a close second.” Seth chuckled under his breath and gave him another quick kiss before turning back to Frosty. The narrator started singing the song again and Gob made a face.

“…But, seriously, the Beach Boys’ version is the best version of this song."

* * *

_Oh, my love, we live in troubled days_   
_Oh, my friend, we have the strangest ways_   
_All my friends on this one day of days_   
_Thank God it's Christmas_   
_Yes it's Christmas_   
_Thank God it's Christmas_   
_For one day_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, obviously, this needed to be the Queen song chapter because of Seth. Obviously. Since he's heavily featured in the Queen fic lol.
> 
> I'm still refining the playlist but it can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/28ZJVmzNO4rT9kKBYlvRvp?si=LOEvyVJPTSm0ORFFccRKFw) mostly in the correct order. The next chapter should be up VERY shortly since it's mostly written so yay! But if I don't get everything up today (Christmas on the east coast of the USA), keep in mind technically the 25th is the first day of Christmas, so… ;) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! <3


	6. What a Christmas to Have the Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gob's first Christmas after his break-up with Seth (an expansion of the Christmas briefly described in a flashback in [chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15911517/chapters/38819180) of the second Piano Man fic)

**What a Christmas to Have the Blues**

_Bells will be ringing, the glad, glad news_   
_Oh what a Christmas to have the blues_   
_My baby's gone, I have no friends_   
_To wish me greetings once again_

-["Please Come Home for Christmas"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mamWPQp6dEM) as performed by Jon Bon Jovi

* * *

Christmas was a good time to be a musician. Financially speaking, anyways. With all the extra church services and holiday concerts, it was a lot easier to find work. It was even possible to find work out of state, especially when you had connections. And Seth’s connections to Michigan were still strong as all get out, leading to him finding work for both him and Gob during the second Christmas they spent together in Michigan (their third Christmas while dating overall).

The next year, Seth asked Gob if he wanted to do that again. Of course, Gob was interested at first, but then he found out Lindsay and her daughter were going to be in Newport Beach for Christmas. And Tobias would be there, too, of course, but Gob could easily ignore that and chose to.

And while Lindsay had visited with Mae a few times, they hadn’t spent Christmas together since that first one after he graduated college. He hadn't spend one with  Michael for that matter. He hadn't even seen them at the same time since Lindsay's wedding. As great as spending Christmases with the Evans had been, he missed his siblings and the free-flowing alcohol and even the sound of his mother’s and sister’s voices as he played piano.

“You should come down,” Lindsay told Gob. “It’ll be fun! We can take the kids to the beach and get some Bluth bananas—there’s  _ someone _ working there, I’m sure—and you can get that tan back.” 

Gob  _ did _ miss the sun and heat and the ability to wear sandals without worrying about how  _ filthy _ his feet would get. San Francisco was foggy and chilly and dirty, at least compared to Newport Beach.

“I don’t know,” Gob said when he talked it over with Michael. “It’s such a good time gig-wise and I could always use the money. Seth thinks he can get us that gig again back in Michigan.”

“You know you can always ask me if you need money,” Michael said. 

“I know,” Gob mumbled. He had already borrowed from Michael a few times, despite feeling bad for doing some. “But dealing with mom and dad and everything, and…” Gob hesitated for a moment, feeling a bit scared to admit, “And I don’t want to spend my favorite day without Seth.” 

To be clear, he wasn’t scared that he felt that way. He really wasn’t, and that had surprised him. Gob had always assumed he’d be scared to meet and be with someone in such a serious relationship; after all, he had been terrified to even want that with his first boyfriend. 

But it was different with Seth, maybe because he got his first boyfriend out of the way. Or maybe it was just because it was  _ Seth, _ someone who was always in the back of his mind as an option, even when he was with said first boyfriend. The fact that this option, this lingering hope he always had since they met, had led to a relationship so  _ wonderful _ made Gob happier than he thought possible. And Gob was just  _ so _ completely in love with him, even after all their years together. 

He was happy he felt that way, that he had found someone who  _ made _ him so happy, someone who seemed to understand him more and more with each passing day, someone who loved him enough to stick around, even if he got annoyed at his lack of sleep and his more reckless behavior. As Gob pointed out, if he hadn’t been so reckless as to ask to join Seth in San Francisco, they wouldn’t be dating and as happy as they were.

The only reason he was scared to admit it was that it was to  _ Michael. _ Despite his jokes to him, Gob didn’t  _ really _ think Michael was homophobic, but it was still weird discussing his  _ feelings _ for a guy with Michael. It was even hard to do that with Lindsay or  _ anyone. _ Making jokes about being gay and talking about sex and all of that was one thing, but the vulnerability of talking about how he felt, or even letting people see how he felt was scary. It was why he avoided PDA and barely did more than kiss Seth on the cheek or grasp his hand or wrap an arm around him when others were around. Those brief touches were intimate and sweet and just for them. Gob loved being in love, but the idea of being  _ open _ about that love was terrifying.

It was why what Michael said next made him panic.

“Why don’t you bring him down with you?”

Gob’s heart stopped beating for a few moments and his stomach lurched. “Michael, I—”

“No, Gob, seriously, it’d be great. Tracey and I would love to have you both here,” Michael continued. “And you know George Michael would love to see his uncles.”

Gob couldn’t stop himself from smiling ever so slightly. George Michael considering Seth his uncle was one of those signs that this was a real thing, something that made Gob so excited.

“…I know he would,” Gob said softly. “But, Michael, I can’t. Not with dad being  _ dad. _ Or even mom, too, she…” Lucille had made it clear in her own way that she knew Gob was gay, but Gob was sure she wasn’t ready to actually see it in action. “I mean, I guess if we just said we were friends, maybe—”

“You should be honest,” Michael told him. “Mom can handle it. And dad…he’d have to be happy seeing you happy.” Gob laughed loudly at the mere idea of his father being happy for him. “He’s still a dad, Gob. He loves you, I know it—deep down, maybe, but he  _ does.” _

Gob hated when Michael said stuff like that. It made it so much harder to dismiss his father and move on from trying to mend that relationship when Michael insisted there was love in that bastard heart of his. Michael knew him better than Gob did and Michael was, annoyingly, almost always right. Maybe he was right about their dad, then.

Still, Gob was apprehensive of the whole idea. His last Christmas had ended awfully; if his mom couldn't handle him even _talking_ about Seth, how would she handle him showing up? And, sensing that hesitation, Michael told him, "Tracey and I are hosting the party in our new house, so you wouldn't have to stay over with mom and dad." That was good. “And Imagine taking Seth to the beach with the kids. And getting him to try frozen bananas again. And you could play your baby, and he’s more than welcome to bring his cello to play, too. And think of how much fun he’d have at the Christmas party.”

“…He  _ is _ cute when he’s drunk,” Gob said with a shy smile. He imagined Seth being all cute and drunk with his flushed cheeks and grinning face back in his childhood home. Gob could easily imagine him laughing with Lindsay and entertaining the kids with a story—Buster included as a kid—and, weirdly enough, he could even imagine him getting along with his mom. Hey, if Sethony came out to play, she’d possibly enjoy both his blunt, bitchy responses and his willingness to sing.

“I’ll talk to him about it.”

* * *

Seth had been surprised by the request and a little apprehensive himself. He knew that saying Gob’s relationship with his parents was “rocky” was like saying Gob thought Liszt was an "okay" composer. 

“Are you sure you want to go down for that?” Seth asked. 

Gob had been thinking about it a lot, really, and he knew he wanted to go down and he wanted Seth with him. Not just because he knew Seth could calm him down if his dad was too mean, but because, “You’re important to me. And I want you to be a part of my family, you know?”

Seth smiled softly. He knew how Gob felt about that. It was why he loved seeing how easily Gob talked to his parents and sister.

“I’m ready to stop hiding this from them. I know that they know, but, like, I want them to  _ really _ know,” Gob said. “Like, we don’t pretend that Tracey and Michael are just roommates or that Tobias and Lindsay aren’t married—though, honestly, I wish we  _ could _ pretend that sometimes.”

Being compared to Gob’s married siblings made Seth both smile and feel a bit anxious. There had been something he wanted to talk about with Gob for a long time and, well, maybe it was the best time.

First, Seth just nodded and said, “I’d love to go down with you, then.”

Gob perked up. “Really?”

“Yeah. I would—but we should talk first,” Seth made himself say.

“…Weren’t we already talking?”

“I want to talk about something else,” Seth told him. Gob nodded, though he felt a bit nervous himself. Wasn’t saying they needed to talk a bad sign?

Still, Gob sat down on the couch with Seth. As Seth geared himself up to ask what he wanted to ask, Gob looked around the lights he had already strung up around the apartment. God, he loved Christmas…

“So…” Seth said for a start. Gob turned to him and Seth slowly said, “…Have you ever thought about marriage?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, do you see yourself getting married?”

Gob blinked a few times. “I thought you realized I was gay? I really don't wanna marry some woman—”

“No, not like that. I meant…” Seth thought over the best wording for a few moments. Finally, he plainly asked, “Could you see  _ us _ getting married?”

“Like to each other?”

“Yeah.”

Gob’s eyebrows furrowed together. “But I thought gays couldn’t get married?”

Seth said, “Not legally. But they can have ceremonies and…and even rings if they want—there’s no law against that, you know? And we could consider ourselves married, call each other husbands—like Freddie and Jim.”

As to be expected, Gob’s face lit up at the mention of Freddie Mercury. 

Seth looked at him nervously. “So, do you think we’re headed that way? Because…because I really can see myself doing that with you. And…and I’d love to do that with you. I…” Seth shook his head slightly with a laugh. “I really didn’t expect this when we met all those years ago, but…but I can really see us having a future together. A real one. And I know I haven’t really dated many people or even hooked up with many, but I really don’t want to. I think…I think I’m ready to settle down for real. I didn’t think I’d meet the love of my life at eighteen, but…but I think I did?” 

Before Gob could even think of responding, Seth continued, “And I’m not saying we need to get married now. But I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” Seth put a hand on Gob’s knee and said, “I just want to build a home with you. Make this a  _ real _ home, you know, so we’re not saying we’re going home when we visit our family. We can be each other’s home, you know? But we’d still see our families—but together. I…I really want that. But if you don’t want that, you have to let me know. We don’t have to go out and get rings right away or anything—I mean, we need to start put money aside for those first, since we can’t really afford them now—but do you see that happening?”

Gob looked at him with an unreadable expression, obviously thinking over everything Seth had said. Seth watched him with a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach, waiting to see what he’d say.

Finally, Gob responded, “I always thought the best wedding recessional song would be ‘You’re My Best Friend.’” He shrugged slightly and shyly admitted, “At least I thought it’d be perfect if it was us.” 

Seth slowly smiled incredulously, his heart thumping hard in his chest. “I think that  _ definitely _ has to happen.”

* * *

Though they promised not to tell anyone about how they were engaged to be engaged, Gob and Seth made sure to celebrate a lot themselves. Like, they barely left their bedroom the next few days. And it wasn’t just naughty celebrating, either, and not just because they were obviously on Santa’s nice list. It was just hard for either of them to detangle themselves from the other. Gob was always a clingy cuddler in bed, but Seth started to rival him. Neither of them were willing to let the other go at any point.

Though, rest assured, they definitely spent a lot of time being “naughty”, too.

They also talked a lot, too. Talked about their plans. Though Seth had always imagined himself marrying someone with a more stable job, he wanted them to both keep doing music. He’d rather them have to be on opposite sides of the world for performances at times than make either of them give up their dreams. And maybe one day they’d get to perform together—though, admittedly, Gob wasn’t fond of the idea of playing accompaniment, which was what most duos with piano were, and Seth was more comfortable in ensembles or slightly larger chamber groups. But, whatever, that wasn’t important. They didn’t have to do  _ everything _ together.

They talked about where they’d live. They both knew they didn’t have much control over that, though, since it was possible one of them would get a resident artist position in some other part of the country—or the world—and the life of a musician meant being willing to travel to and live in multiple places. Obviously, Gob was hopeful they’d end up somewhere warmer, but Seth, who had grown up with the harsh Michigan winters, was more than happy in the sweater weather San Francisco provided. Really, Gob was fine making a home with Seth in San Francisco—they basically already had, after all—because Seth was going to be his home, not the city. He’d never consider that city a home, anyways, because it just wasn’t his scene. But, again, Seth was his home.

Gob still was only partially joking when he said that Seth should keep his eyes open for cellist auditions for the LA Phil.

Gob thought he’d be able to handle living that close to his dad after that Christmas.

And, of course, they talked about how long it would be before rings were a thing. Seth was pretty sure his parents would also help with a ceremony when the time came, financially speaking. Gob was sure Michael would, too, as would Lindsay if needed. There was always the possibility that one or both of them would end up in a big job or something, but, for the moment, it would be a few years before a real ceremony was a possibility, and probably at least a year before they could afford rings.

Gob suggested, “Or we could just ask Michael to help fund the rings—I’m sure he’d be up for it.”

“You just want permission to tell Michael, don’t you?”

Gob gave him a look. “Stop knowing me so well.”

Seth chuckled. “Even human puzzles like you can be understood if you’ve known them as long as I have.” Gob still puzzled him and surprised him constantly, but Seth liked to think after all the years, he had come to know him better than anyone else. Even better than Michael, if only because he saw him in positions that Michael never did.

…He hoped to  _ god _ they’d never been in those positions.

“Fine. We’ll wait,” Gob said with a sigh. “But if we have that long to wait, you better give me a damn good proposal, Evans.”

Seth smiled. “Trust me; I’ve already been thinking about how I’ll ask you. After all, I need to have a better proposal story to tell our kids than my parents did.”

Gob laughed, and Seth laughed with him. Seth had told him how unromantic his parents’ had gone down.

“It’s such a bad story, right?” Seth said, still laughing a little.

“Yeah. But, god, just imagining  _ me _ having  _ kids?” _ Gob laughed louder, shaking his head. “Now  _ that’s _ a good one.”

Seth stopped laughing.

“…Y-you don’t want kids?”

Gob stopped laughing, too.

“No. Why? Do you…?” 

Seth nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I’ve always wanted to be a dad, I…” He looked at Gob with utter confusion. “How could you not want them? You’d be  _ such _ a good dad.”

Gob scoffed. “I…I had the world’s worst example of a father. I could never—I…” He trailed off as he looked at Seth, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach at the look on his face. This was the first time since their big talk that they had stopped smiling.

Finally, Seth shook his head and forced on a small smile. “You know, we don’t have to talk about this right now.”

“Right. Right, that’s…it’s fine.” Hey, maybe he could change his mind, right?

But even when they went to bed that night, Gob felt a sense of dread he had never felt with Seth around.

* * *

_ Ding-Dong! _

Tracey and Michael looked at each other with matching annoyed expressions. There was no doubt it was Michael’s mom at the door, since she was the only person who’d stop by unannounced. It was just like Lucille to come over when they were just getting George Michael to bed.

“I’ll go get rid of her,” Michael told her with a sigh. Sure that he wouldn’t be back from whatever rant she felt like unleashing that night in time to say goodnight, Michael went ahead and hugged his son tightly and told him that he loved him.

“Love you, too,” George Michael repeated back. 

Michael ruffled his son’s hair and said, “Be good for your mom, okay?”

“He always is,” Tracey said, tickling her son’s stomach and making him giggle. “But he needs to be extra good for Santa to come, right?” George Michael nodded in response.

Michael couldn’t help but smile. It was the small moments like that where he realized just how much he loved being a father, even if having a toddler before the age of 25 had definitely never been a plan of his.

But, of course, his mother  _ had _ to interrupt that.

He sighed as he left his son’s room, closing the door behind him. At least his mom was there when George Michael was out of the way; he hated the idea of his mom having a maternal influence on him.

“Look, mom—” Michael started as he opened the door, but, to his surprise, it wasn’t his mom on the front step.

“Hey, Mikey,” Gob said. He was smiling a little, but it looked shaky.

“Gob? Hey, I—What…what are you doing here?”

“Christmas,” Gob said simply. Before Michael could point out that he was there a week before the planned date, Gob continued, “Sorry, I know it’s early, but is it cool for me to crash here?”

“…Yeah, yeah, of course,” Michael said, utterly confused as to why his brother was there But then he figured, well, that was Gob for you; doing whatever he wanted even if inconvenienced people around him. It was nice to see him anyways. “You know the guest room is always open for you.” With that, he opened his arms for a hug, knowing all too well Gob would want one. It was kind of weird that he hadn’t hugged him already.

Gob half-heartedly returned it. He must’ve been really tired.

“Thanks, Mikey,” Gob said as he stepped inside. It was only then that Michael realized he had a lot of luggage with him. A  _ lot. _

“Did you really need to bring your whole apartment?” Michael teased.

The teasing had an unexpected affect on his brother. Gob’s small smile fell completely. “…Kinda had to. I have some more stuff coming down here through the mail.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “What? Why?” He had been so thrown off guard that he didn’t notice the oddest part of this whole appearance. “Where’s Seth? Is he coming down later?”

Gob’s gaze fell to the ground and he mumbled something. Michael couldn’t make out what he said, but before he could ask him to repeat it, Tracey came out, quietly closing the door to George Michael’s room behind her.

She looked pleasantly surprised to find Gob in her living room instead of her mother-in-law. “Gob! Hi!” Tracey greeted him excitedly but quietly. If George Michael heard that his favorite uncle was there, he’d never get to sleep. “What are you doing here so early?” Tracey asked as she gave him a hug. It was pretty lackluster.

She noticed sooner than Michael had that Seth wasn’t there. “Is Seth coming down later?”

Gob gave a stiff shake of his head. Tracey took in the amount of luggage Gob had and the expression on his face and softly said, “Oh, no.”

Michael, however, didn’t get it. “What? He’s not coming down anymore? I thought—” Suddenly, as he saw his brother’s lower lip quiver for a moment, he got it, too. “Oh, god, Gob, I’m sorry, I—”

“What room am I staying in?” Gob asked, his voice surprisingly steady despite how close he looked to crying. 

Not wanting to upset him any further, Michael and Tracey led him to the room. Tracey told him they had leftovers she could heat up for him if he was hungry and Michael, falling back on old Bluth methods, suggested their alcohol collection. But as soon as Gob was shown to the guest room, he closed the door behind him and didn’t leave for the rest of the night.

* * *

Michael knocked on the door to the guest room. When he got no response, he let himself in anyways, not completely surprised to find his brother laying sprawled out on his stomach, his head turned to the side. He was very clearly awake, even if he didn’t want to be. Even  _ Gob’s _ sleep habits weren’t so bad that he slept with his eyes open.

“Hey, buddy,” Michael said, already sounding too fake-cheery in his own head. He cleared his throat and, in a more normal tone, said, “I just wanted you to know Tracey made pancakes.”

Gob didn’t say anything, but he gave a brief nod of his head.

“And, you know, George Michael’s really excited to see you.”

Gob, again, remained silent and nodded.

“We told him someone cool came by last night and at first he thought we meant Santa,” Michael said. “It was actually really cute. But when we said it was you he got even more excited.”

Gob’s lips twitched up for the slightest moment. Finally, he croaked out, “Be down in a sec.”

“Great!” God, that sounded even worse than his initial greeting had. He nodded at Gob and then said, “I’ll see you there soon.”

And, true to his word, Gob  _ did _ join them in the kitchen. He hadn’t changed out of his pajamas or even bothered with a robe, but, hey, it probably wasn’t easy to find his stuff in all those bags.

And, true to Michael’s word, George Michael  _ was _ excited to see his uncle. “Uncle Gob!”

Gob, to the best of his ability, smiled at his nephew. “Hey, George Michael!” He hugged him in greeting, doing his best to actually make it a good one unlike his ones to Michael and Tracey the night before. Then he sat down at the table, looking weirdly lost as Tracey put pancakes down in front of him Those were always his favorite thing of hers she’d make back in the day, which was obviously why she made them, but he really didn’t feel like eating.

But he did so, anyways, even if it was half-heartedly and looked like it was taking a lot of effort. Maybe he only had the heart to do that because it meant he didn’t have to try to participate in conversation. Not that having food in his mouth ever stopped him from commenting in the past.

Even George Michael at his young age could tell that something was wrong with his uncle. He was always so smiley and happy whenever they visited him.

He was never alone when they visited him, either. 

“Where Uncle Seth?” George Michael asked. 

Tracey was unable to stop herself from correcting his grammar, even if he was only four years old. And even though it definitely wasn’t the time to whisper, “Where  _ is _ Uncle Seth?”

“Where is Uncle Seth?” George Michael repeated back dutifully. Tracey winced as she realized what she had done.

Gob put down his fork and blinked several times before wordlessly getting up and going back to his room, closing the door behind him. 

Michael turned to Tracey and she mouthed  _ sorry _ as George Michael looked to where his uncle had gone in confusion. “Why Uncle Gob sad?”

“Why  _ is _ Uncle Gob—” Tracey cut herself off at Michael’s face and, instead, distracted her son by pointing out a bit of his pancakes he hadn’t put syrup on. 

It wasn’t too long before all three of them were distracted by a song blaring from the guest room. Michael immediately recognized it and felt his stomach sink.

There was no way that was a good sign.

* * *

“You should talk to him,” Tracey said quietly. Michael looked at his wife incredulously. “What? He’s your brother!”

“Yeah, but…but you and Lindsay were the ones who actually talked to him about this stuff,” Michael whispered, as if Gob would overhear him. That was  _ very _ unlikely, seeing as Gob hadn’t left their guest room for much past food the past few days he’d been there. He hadn’t even played on the piano—his  _ baby  _ that he always went on and on about—since he had gotten there. Michael knew he had an electric keyboard in his room, one he could practice on with headphones, so maybe he was playing that? Michael sure hoped so, because the idea of his brother not playing at all was absolutely terrifying. If a broken wrist couldn’t stop him, why would a broken heart?

“Yes, but he only went out with Dave for a couple of months,” Tracey said, also whispering, but mostly so George Michael wouldn’t overhear them. He was already confused enough by why his normally happy uncle was barely talking. True, Gob had started doing his best to put on a brave face whenever he joined them for meals, but even a toddler like George Michael could tell he was upset. “He was with Seth for  _ four years _ , Michael. That’s not something ice cream and a bitching session can help. He doesn’t even have anything to bitch about yet.”

That was true. Though they still didn’t know the full story, he had made it clear that Seth was still amazing in his book and that the split was a mutual decision. The only information they had gathered so far was that and that Gob planned on going to Vegas in the New Year.

Tracey sighed. “Look, you know I love Gob, but I don’t know him as well as you. He needs a brother right now, not a sister-in-law.” They both heard the tell-tale sign of Gob starting up the song he had been blasting on repeat and Tracey, as sympathetic as she was, couldn’t help but roll her eyes slightly. “Maybe at least get him to put on  _ headphones.” _

Michael agreed and, after quickly checking in on where his son was playing with his blocks, he went and knocked on Gob’s bedroom door. There was no response for a while, and Michael thought about knocking again, but then he heard Gob make a noise that he was pretty sure meant he was welcome to come in.

Michael opened the door and closed it behind him, taking a moment before turning around to take in his brother.

Gob definitely looked worse for the wear. He hadn’t been shaving, not consistently, and he had a bit of scruff he normally never let form on his face. He was wearing a fairly normal outfit for him, but it was very wrinkled as he laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His hands were behind his head, a very comfortable look, but his face made it clear just how awful he felt. He had that look in his eyes he got sometimes, that look that always scared Michael.

“Hey, buddy,” Michael said as carefully but still positively as possible.

“Hey, Mikey,” Gob said quietly, not breaking his eye contact with the ceiling.

Michael just looked at him for a moment, not sure what to say. The song Gob had been listening to faded into the next on the album, the cheery beats of “Good Company” playing, and Gob made a noise of disgust. Finally moving, he leaned over to the old record player he was using and moved it back to repeat the song Gob had been marathoning for days now.

_ Love of my life, you hurt me. You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me… _

After all the years of waking up to Gob playing Queen, both on album and on the piano, Michael had sort of thought he wouldn’t tire of it. He thought he was immune to any sort of Queen fatigue. But, god, Michael would’ve given anything to even hear that  _ Schoenberg _ stuff over another repeat of “Love of My Life”.

“Hey, don’t you want to listen to something else?” Michael suggested gently.

“Nope.”

“Come on, aren’t you ready to finally get to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’?” Michael asked. “You’ve always said the build up to that song is what makes the album so good. I think you’ve built it up enough.”

“Nope.”

Michael sighed and sat down on the foot of Gob’s bed. “Maybe you want to try playing it on the piano?”

“Nope.” His voice sounded tighter, tense as he avoided looking at his brother.

“Well, if not Queen, maybe you want to try some Liszt?” Michael asked. Gob remained silent. “Bach?” Silence. “Schoenberg?” Michael tried desperately. Nothing.

Finally, realizing the obvious answer, Michael suggested, “What about some Christmas music?” Gob actually looked like he was considering that. Yes, good. That was the way to go. “Maybe some of that Bing stuff, huh? Break out some of the old classics? Some ‘White Christmas’?”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Gob nearly flinched at those words and, as the record tried to go on yet again, Gob just turned back to repeat the track again.

“I-it doesn’t have to be ‘White Christmas’—”

“Leave me alone, Michael,” Gob said tiredly.  _ “Please?” _ His voice was softer than usual, pleading, and as much as that made Michael not want to leave him alone, he gave him a nod and let himself out.

* * *

Thankfully, once Lindsay was around—as well as the large bottle of whiskey—Gob managed to actually talk. And, after playing “Love of My Life” on the piano, with Lindsay providing the words for him, Gob seemed to look a little better.

Even if he was wiping his eyes again, it was better than staring off into space. 

Lindsay wrapped her arms around him as he sniffed and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Did that help at all?”

“Y-yeah. A little,” Gob said. He wiped his eyes again once Lindsay let go and he turned around so he could see Michael. “Did that sound okay? Like, my playing?”

“Of course,” Michael said, a little surprised by the question.

“Really?” Gob asked Lindsay, looking up at her hopefully.

“Really,” Lindsay said as she sat down next to him on the bench. “Why wouldn’t it? You always sound amazing.”

Gob shifted a little in his spot. “…It didn’t sound that good.”

“What do you mean?”

Gob looked down at his lap for a moment. “…I played for him at his recital, you know. And we’d practice at home, sometimes together. I taught him more piano, he taught me some cello—you know, I always joked that it was him getting another piece of his wood between my legs and he’d joke that I was so good at it because I was good at spreading my legs,” Gob said quietly with a small laugh. It was a real sign of how concerned Michael was that he didn’t even make a face at those jokes. “We listened to music together—on Sundays we’d normally listen to ‘Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon’ like, at  _ least _ once. We saved up to go to the SF Symphony together, we saw operas, we saw musicals. Sometimes we just sat and listened to each other play. And now…” Gob felt tears leave his eyes as he said, “Now I don’t know how I’m supposed to make music without him.”

After a pause, Gob said, “That was the first time I’ve played a whole song since…since he brought up kids. Like,  _ weeks _ ago. Because…because I realized then it was the end, you know? And I tried…I tried so hard to do my scales and to play a-and then it was Christmas time, which meant I could play all these Christmas things but he…but I…it just didn’t come out right. Every note sounded wrong and it hurt my ears and…and what if I can’t play anymore? What if…what if the music has just left me?”

Realizing that he had been monologuing about something so personal for so long, Gob finally drank the rest of his whiskey and poured himself some more with a shaky hand, avoiding eye contact with his siblings as he started on his next drink.

Lindsay was the first one to react. She delicately placed a hand on his knee and said, “Gob, I love you. And I’m sorry you’re hurt, I really am…but if you think that you need Seth to make music, you’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

_“Lindsay!”_ Michael hissed at his sister.

“Tough love, Michael,” Lindsay told her twin with a shrug. She turned back to Gob and continued, “Gob, some of my earliest memories are you randomly deciding to practice scales and songs. You’ve practiced for hours a day since you were a kid. You got into  _ Juilliard. _ You’re good at this stuff, Gob— _ so _ good. You were good before Seth and you’ll be good after him. You’re  _ already _ good without him. It just doesn’t sound right because you’re hurt.”

Gob looked doubtful and looked to Michael. Michael nodded and said, “She’s right, Gob. Once you feel better, it’ll sound right.”

After a moment, Gob nodded and looked down at his drink. “…I’m never dating a musician again, though. I don’t want this happening again.”

Lindsay pat his shoulder as he took a large swig of his drink. “Whatever you need, babe.”

* * *

While the big Bluth Christmas Party was normally on Christmas Eve, that year they were going to do the party on Christmas Day at Michael and Tracey’s new place. That meant Christmas Eve was dinner at their parents’ penthouse. A couple years ago, with everyone but Buster out of the next, George had decided they should downgrade to a smaller living space. It sucked not even celebrating Christmas in his childhood home, but Gob figured everything else sucked about this Christmas, anyways. Including the tree in the penthouse. The artificial leaves looked even more fake than usual after two years of real pines.

Still, Gob kept up a brave front. Thankfully, with all of Lindsay’s family there, there were a lot of people between himself and his dad at dinner. They were even nice enough to get Tobias next to his dad, which made him less likely to talk in the first place and even less likely to talk to Gob, which he did  _ not _ want to deal with at the moment. Gob ended up next to his mom and across from Buster, which was as far from the two of them as he could be.

“What are you going to do in Vegas?” Buster asked at one point.

Gob shrugged and ran his fork through his mashed potatoes. “There are a lot of bars and casinos and stuff. I can find some piano job.”

His mom shook her head. “As long as you don’t end up as some stripper.”

Gob couldn’t help but snort a bit at that, seeing as he had already worked as one in San Francisco, but Michael, who had overheard, frowned at his mom. “Could you not say that stuff in front of your grandchildren? And maybe don’t say that sort of thing to your  _ own _ children.”

“Lighten up, _Michael,”_ Gob said. 

"Yeah, our little Maeby Baby can handle that,” Lindsay agreed, using that little nickname she loved to use every now and then. Hey, teasing Michael always put Gob in higher spirits, so why not? Michael rolled his eyes but went back to eating.

“Do you even know anyone there?” Buster asked. 

“I’m staying with a friend for a bit until I find my own place,” Gob answered. That was part of why he had chosen Las Vegas in the first place, so he wouldn’t be completely alone.

Lucille looked at him and calmly asked, “Is your roommate coming?”

Gob looked up at her. He didn’t expect any direct sort of question like that—and that was  _ definitely _ direct for her.

He bit his lips for a moment before replying, “No.”

After a slight hesitation, Lucille nodded. Not as if that was acceptable or anything, but as if signaling she knew what had happened. “Well,” she said in her usual tone of voice, “I can’t imagine wanting to be in  _ San Francisco _ over Las Vegas, personally. It’s much too cold and dirty up there for my taste.”

Gob nodded.

“Filthy city,” George agreed. “It’s all those people living there. The homeless, the criminals, the queers— _ OW!” _

Tracey, who’d been sitting next to him, quickly said, “Oh, gosh, was that  _ your _ foot my stiletto just pressed on? I’m _so_ sorry!” Even though her tone was sincere, Gob had a feeling she had done it on purpose.

That was only made clearer when she had a “clumsy” moment by knocking over her drink on his plate when he started to make another homophobic comment. And when she “accidentally” kicked his shin when he made some comment about how he was married by Gob’s age.

He got why his siblings didn’t say anything to his dad. It was hard standing up to a parent, so he couldn’t really blame them. At least they’d change the conversation when they could, but seeing his dad getting tortured by sweet little Tracey sure was something.

“Thanks. For all you did during dinner. With my dad and everything,” Gob told her when they got back to hers and Michael’s.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re welcome,” Tracey said sweetly. She threw in a small wink Gob knew she’d deny sending before taking George Michael to his room to get ready for bed.

Well, as long as Tracey was there, maybe he could survive Christmases in Newport Beach.

* * *

Christmas Day marked an improvement in Gob’s mood. And it wasn’t just the holiday spirit or anything. No, it was that, on Christmas Day, he finally was ready to say one—just one—bad thing about Seth.

“I missed drinking on Christmas,” Gob sighed out happily as he helped himself to some of his mom’s infamous spiked cider. “Seth’s family would only have, like, a couple of glasses of wine and maybe—if I was lucky—like, a  _ drop _ of rum in eggnog. Nothing was like this stuff.”

“Nothing else on planet earth is like this stuff,” Tracey said, knowing all too well to skip it. While the Bluth family found it delicious, just one cup had to count as, like, two Long Island Iced Teas. Tobias had already had two cups by the early afternoon and had gotten so sick he ended up going back to the hotel early.

Which, really, only helped improve Gob’s mood.

“God, it’s so good,” Gob moaned happily, eagerly downing his cup.

Really, Gob was feeling so much better. Not only was there alcohol and he had minimal contact with Tobias, but even his  _ dad _ had left already. His dad was notorious for hating Christmas and for hating his own son, so it made sense he’d get out of there as soon as he could when the two were combined. It was the first time Gob had been happy his dad couldn’t seem to stand the sight of him. It was just him and the family members he actually  _ liked, _ including his little niece and nephew.

His niece and nephew who watched him with wide, excited eyes as he played all the Christmas songs they requested in the first round of the sing-along.

He had been so nervous that he wouldn't be able to play at all. He was sure he would mess it up, that he'd play in two keys at once or his fingers wouldn't reach the notes or it would all sound _wrong._ But, to his surprise, he sounded fine. He sounded _better_ than fine; he sounded _great._ It was like magic. _Christmas_ magic. A true Christmas miracle that brought music back to his finger tips.

And, okay, maybe that was cheesy of him, but it was  _ Christmas;  _ when else was it okay to be cheesy?

After a few songs, they settled down to watch  _ White Christmas. _ And, okay, he faltered a little bit. He had experienced a white Christmas. One with Seth. And Seth was back there now. Maybe he was having a white one. Did it snow in Michigan? Did the Evans watch the movie like they had with him? Was Seth struggling to watch it just like he was?

He certainly wasn’t drinking like he was, that was for sure.

Gob managed to cheer up enough as the movie went on, but Michael noticed him conveniently being out of the room for all of Rosemary Clooney’s [“Love, You Didn’t Do Right By Me”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SpKRQWXYw5Q) number. And missing a musical number definitely wasn’t something Gob was known for.

Missing multiple numbers wasn't something he was known for, either. But Gob seemed to stay out of the living room for most of the rest of the movie, only coming back in when Lindsay called out that the finale was about to start. Surely Gob wouldn't want to miss _that._

And, damn it, he really _didn't_ want to miss that. 

Thankfully, seeing the snow on screen didn’t affect him. Now he knew what real snow looked like on Christmas, so he could just appreciate the sentiment of them trying to recreate it on stage. He just hummed [“White Christmas”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YsxBCb03JCo) to himself as the film ended and smiled at the old time-y End title on the screen. Stuff like that always made him smile.

* * *

They ended up ordering in Chinese food and drinking some more. While they waited for food, Michael put on the radio station to one playing Christmas songs. Gob wanted to put on one of his own mixes of only the good Christmas stuff, but that box of mixtapes still hadn’t arrived in the mail. Whatever. At least the station was playing some decent stuff. Thank god southern Californians knew that the Beach Boys’ version of “Frosty the Snowman” was the only good one.

“This year has been such a bad one for pop music,” Gob said as some pop singer he hadn’t heard of wailed an awful version of “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” “Seriously, ever top hit has been  _ awful. _ Like ‘The Macarena’. Ugh.” 

After a moment, he corrected himself to Lindsay, Michael, and Tracey. “Okay, that ‘Pony’ song is good. That got me a lot of tips." He smirked to himself; it was definitely a perfect stripping song.

"…I have no idea what that song is," Michael said.

"No surprise," Gob muttered. Michael knowing a good song on his own? Impossible.

"Yeah, you lost me, too," Tracey said. "I mean, I know 'The Macarena', but…"

Gob looked to Lindsay, ready to share one of those "these poor lame people" looks, but Lindsay admitted, "I can't remember the last time I listened to the normal radio. I t's all _Barney_ CDs and Disney mixes."

"Same here," Tracey said with Michael nodding along.

"And classical stuff," Michael said with a nod towards Gob. "It's supposed to help boost their intelligence and everything."

"Right, right. And Michael likes to study to that," Tracey said, running a supportive hand on his shoulder. He was studying for his LSATs, since he was hoping to go to law school eventually—once Tracey finally finished school, of course. She had just started back up after dropping out when George Michael was born.

Gob stared at them and shook his head. He couldn't imagine having to listen to fucking _Barney_ over Queen or Disney kids music over what he could hear in the clubs. Why would anyone choose that life?

Why would Seth, a man with _two degrees_ in music, choose that life?

Before Gob could even think about it even more, he heard the way too familiar sound of Elvis Presley's unique voice.

_[I'll have a blue Christmas without you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QipqXel5G4g)  
I'll be so blue just thinkin' about you… _

Gob looked in front of him and blinked a few times, feeling a lump form in his throat. 

Michael looked between his wife and Lindsay. "…Gob, I—"

Gob stood up and violently unplugged the radio, throwing it onto the couch.

As Lucille and Buster looked over at him, Gob just cleared his throat. "…[The Beach Boys version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cIu6kEqRw4) is better." With that, he went back to the kitchen to get more to drink.

"…That wasn't his best lie," Tracey whispered.

Lindsay nodded. "Yeah…their version of that song _sucks."_

* * *

Soon after dinner, both George Michael and Mae passed out. It was honestly adorable and, with some careful maneuvering of parents who had done this too many times, Tracey and Lindsay managed to get them in George Michael's bed without waking them up so they could sleep and Lindsay could stay a bit longer. That was good, because they all got into another round of the sing-along, Gob very much feeling spirited—not super-drunk spirited like past Christmases, but definitely a bit on the tipsy side.

After hitting up some of the standards they hadn't played earlier, Gob asked, “Okay, what next?”

“Hmmm…dealer’s choice,” Lucille said with a nod at him.

Lindsay grinned. “Yeah, dealer’s choice for the soon to be Vegas boy. What Christmas song are you feeling right now?”

Gob let out a small laugh. "What…what am _I_ feeling? Out of ones we haven't done?" One particular song sprang to mind. One with a great piano part. One that definitely reflected how he was feeling.

Still, he was hesitant. No one would want to hear it, he was sure. It would just bring everyone down, just like he had the last time he spent Christmas down there. But after an encouraging look from Michael and Tracey, he finished off his drink and turned back to the piano. 

He waited a few moments before playing that, at first, sounded like “Jingle Bells”, but as it kept going, Michael slowly started to recognize it.  _ “Oh,” _ Lindsay said quietly. Tracey grimaced as she made eye contact with her husband; this couldn’t be good. Even Lucille looked uncomfortable and she ended up excusing herself to get more to drink from the kitchen.

_[“It’s coming on Christmas, they’re cutting down trees.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3NH-ctddY9o) They’re putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace. Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on…” _ Gob hoped it was cold enough for Seth to skate in Michigan. He had taken him to the rink last year, and Gob had failed miserably and kept falling, but they both had so much fun. 

He continued,  _ “But it don’t snow here; it stays pretty green. I’m going to make a lot of money then I’m going to quit this crazy scene. I wish I had a river I could skate away on.” _

Buster looked around, confused. He didn’t know the lyrics to that song, or even the melody. It didn’t even seem very Christmas-y. It sounded sad. Like, really sad.

But also really pretty.

_ “…I made my baby cry,” _ Gob sang, his voice cracking ever so slightly. He cleared his throat, ready to insist it was just from how high it sat in his voice. It  _ was _ high, and not just for him.

No one was fooled. 

“I don’t get why no one’s singing along,” Gob tried to joke during the interlude. "It's supposed to be a sing along."

Lindsay quietly said, “Gob—”

Ignoring her, he continued on,  _ “He tried hard to help me, you know, he put me at ease. And he loved me so naughty, made me weak in the knees.” _ He was unable to stop himself from laughing just a little at that. God, did he really already miss the sex. Even the sad, angry, emotional break-up sex was so good, and he was sure he’d never get that again.  _ “Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on.” _

He shook his head and sang,  _ “I’m so hard to handle. I’m selfish. And I’m sad.” _ He hit the chords pretty hard on those words, almost stopping playing to hit them so hard.  _ “Now I’ve gone and lost the best baby that I ever had…” _ He actually stopped completely that time, blinking rapidly as he looked straight ahead of him.

“Gob?” Tracey asked quietly.

That seemed to snap him out of it.  _ “I wish I had a river I could skate away on…Oh I wish I had a river so long I would teach my feet to fly…” _ He held that note as long as he could, not quite making it as long as Joni would’ve, but making a valiant effort. He sniffed and continued on, not showing anymore weakness until he sang,  _ “I made my baby say goodbye—” _ His voice was cut off by his own emotion.

Not even bothering finishing the song or even cadencing, Gob stood up and roughly said, “Excuse me.” With that, he walked right past his mom, right out of the house, and into the backyard. 

Buster looked up around at his siblings and sister-in-law. “Does that mean Christmas is over?”

* * *

Michael went out to check on Gob. Lindsay volunteered to go with him, but he felt like this was something he should do alone. For some reason it felt important that he did. Maybe it was just his tendency to want to martyr himself, but it felt right.

Gob was looking up at the sky, surprisingly not crying or smoking or anything Michael would’ve expected. He was just staring up at the stars as he sat on one of the swings in the playset Michael had put in for George Michael. Since the other swing was meant for a toddler with the little leg holes and everything, Michael sat at the end of the slide and looked over at his brother.

“Do you think it’s snowing in Ann Arbor?”

“What?”

“It didn’t snow last year,” Gob said. He blinked a few times before saying, “I hope it did this year. He deserves a white Christmas.”

Michael wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe it was better to say nothing. But, eventually, he said, “I hope you get another one someday. You deserve it, too. I know how much you loved it.”

Gob shrugged a shoulder but didn’t say anything. Michael waited, knowing full well that his brother would talk again eventually. 

And, sure enough, he finally said, “You know, we had decided not to do presents this year. But I was going to. Something small.”

“…Yeah?”

Gob nodded. “We were going to…we wanted to save up. You know, for…for rings.” Michael felt a pang in his chest at how his brother’s voice cracked on those words. “So he didn’t want us spending money on anything big. But I thought…I thought I’d just get him a Ring Pop. You know, those plastic rings with the big sucker on them?” 

As Gob laughed softly, Michael did as well. “I…yeah. That’s a good one.”

“I had already imagined him wearing that in front of mom and dad. Because I know he would’ve,” Gob said with the faintest hint of a smile. “He hates them so much—especially dad. He totally would’ve worn it all day on his ring finger and everything. And purposefully bring their attention to it and lick it just to torture them. And  _ me _ for that matter.” Gob laughed softly again. “He really could be such a freaking tease.”

After a long pause, Gob quietly said, “I really don’t want kids.”

“…I know,” Michael replied softly.

“And I know…I know some people compromise on that. And maybe…maybe if we hadn’t found all these other problems, I would’ve, you know? If he wanted to live in a different city or if I loved San Francisco more or…or if I was ready to slow down or if I had a steadier job or whatever. You know, if any of those problems were fixed, maybe. But…but I know what it’s like to be brought into this world by at least one person who doesn’t want you there,” Gob said. He shook his head. “I’d never want my kid to know what that feels like.” He sniffed lightly and finally looked at Michael as he asked, “Does that make me selfish?”

“Gob, it’s  _ not,” _ Michael insisted softly.

Gob blinked rapidly, but it did nothing to stop himself from crying. “I just…I already hurt him  _ so badly _ all those years ago. When I got scared and-and ripped up his contact info. He spent almost a year thinking I wanted to forget about him, or that I already had. And now I…now I’ve hurt him even worse. I know that it was for th-the best but I still hurt him a-and _I'm_ still hurting. And I wish I  _ could _ forget him. But I never will, I can’t, not even for a  _ day, _ for my  _ favorite _ day…” Gob trailed off as he started to cry harder.

Michael paused. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He wanted there to be some right thing to do or say that made Gob get over it, something that made his brother snap out of it and be happy. He wanted to fix this, solve this problem, make it all work out  _ somehow. _

But there wasn’t really a way to fix it. All anyone could do was wait for time to heal it.

Waiting was always the hard part.

Michael got up and hugged his brother as he cried. With Gob in the swing, his head was pressed to his chest, which was a little weird, but Michael stayed there as Gob wrapped his arms back around him, still crying. And as much as Michael wanted to, he didn’t hush him or try to reign him in or anything. He just let Gob cry and cry.

He didn’t even break the hug when Gob had calmed down. He waited until Gob pulled away himself. Gob looked up at Michael apologetically and wiped under his nose. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Michael said. 

“I really thought I was feeling better.”

“…I think this stuff comes in waves,” Michael said. “And it’s gonna keep coming for a while.”

Gob nodded. After a short silence, he said, “This sucks.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” 

Gob looked back to Michael’s house. “Did I ruin the whole night?”

“Of course not,” Michael said. “Wanna go back in and join them?” Gob made a small noise and Michael said, “We don’t have to if you don’t want. We can stay out here or go for a walk. See if there’s a movie or something. Whatever you need.” 

It took a moment, but Gob finally asked, “Could I play some more music?” As if sensing his brother’s question, Gob said, “It  _ was _ making me feel better. Until, you know, the last one.”

After a small hesitation, Michael said, “You know mother’s always ready for more sing-alongs.”

* * *

Lucille had, indeed, been ready to sing along to some more songs. But as it got further past Buster’s bedtime, it was clear they had to call it a night. 

“This is why the parties really need to happen at our place,” Lucille muttered as she wrapped herself in her fur. She gave everyone a goodbye before setting off with Buster in a taxi.

“Do you mind if I stay a bit longer?” Lindsay asked Tracey and Michael.

“Go ahead,” Tracey said, already much more relaxed now that her mother-in-law was gone. She kicked off her shoes and sat down on the couch.

Lindsay took hers off as well and took a sip of her wine. “It sucks not going as hard as I used to. I just know I have to deal with Maeby in the morning…” Michael nodded in agreement. Even if he didn’t really get hungover, with a child in the house, it felt wrong to get as wasted as he had in the past at these things.

Again, Gob had no idea why people would want kids.

Thankfully, before Gob could comment, the phone rang. Michael sighed heavily; was his mom really calling from the cab? He  _ knew _ getting her a cell phone was a mistake.

After the second ring, he groaned and picked it up. “Hello, Michael Bluth speaking.” He sat up suddenly at the person’s response. “…Hey?” Gob looked at Tracey and Lindsay in confusion. They looked just as lost as him.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you, obviously…uh, I mean, if you really want to? I…” Michael paused before nodding, “Uh, yeah. Sure…okay, you, too.” He looked over at Gob and said, “It’s for you.”

Gob, not getting Michael’s significant look, assumed it was the guy he was moving in with in Vegas. He’d been waiting to hear back from him, but he hadn’t expected it over Christmas. Weirdo. 

Gob got up and took the cordless phone from Michael. “Hey—”

“Hey, Gob.”

Gob paused like Michael had.

“…Hi, Seth,” Gob said, immediately going to the kitchen for some privacy.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now,” Seth said. “But I just…it felt wrong to not wish you a merry Christmas. So…merry Christmas."

“You, too,” Gob said. After a moment, he said, “I’d never  _ not _ want to hear from you.”

“…But we probably need to not hear from each other for a while.”

“…Right.” Gob knew if he talked to him too much, he’d just want to be with him and get back together with him, things that they couldn’t let happen.

“But I figured we could make an exception for Christmas?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that seems fair,” Gob said. He paused briefly before asking, “Did it snow there?”

Seth scoffed. “No. Cold enough for it, but no clouds or anything.”

“Damn. It didn’t snow here, either.”

“In sunny southern California? What _are_ the odds?”

“Right?”

They both laughed a little at that, but they both trailed off, obviously not sure what to say after weeks of discussing everything and fighting and crying.

After another moment, Gob asked, “…How are you doing?”

“…Well, I had to skip over [‘Last Christmas’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YUH8Xfz-jg), so I feel like the worst gay man in the world.”

Gob couldn’t help but laugh a little with him. “I was given a choice in the sing along and chose ‘River’ and had to leave mid-song. Didn’t even cadence it.” They both chuckled together again. 

“Rebecca did a great job distracting everyone, though, with her own announcement. Apparently she’s bi,” Seth said.

“Oh damn. How did your parents take that?”

“Pretty sure they’re in denial, even though she brought up a girlfriend,” Seth answered. "Don't know what they expected when they sent her to an all girls college."

“Well, tell her congrats from me.”

“Can do.” After a pause, he said, “She misses you, by the way. The whole family does.”

“Tell them I miss them, too.”

“I will,” Seth said. “…How’s your family doing?”

“Good. Good, yeah. Little Maeby Baby is even cuter than I remember. George Michael’s gotten so big—he asked about you, actually.”

“Aw…” Seth paused before saying, “I really miss your family. Like the ones I actually met and know.” Gob said he’d tell them and then Seth asked, “How is it seeing the rest of them?”

Gob sighed. “I haven’t seen much of them, which is good. My dad tried saying some things—but, oh! Tracey totally kicked him yesterday at dinner.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Tracey called out from the living room. Realizing she had just revealed they had been listening-in, she quickly said, “I, uh, really don’t because I’m not listening—”

“Shhh,” Michael told her with a slightly amused tinge to his voice. She was fitting in fine with his family past her inability to handle her alcohol, which he honestly found kind of adorable.

Gob laughed slightly and walked as far as he could from the living room. “…It’s really nice to hear from you.”

“Yeah. You, too.” After a moment, Seth said, “But I should probably go. It’s late and all.”

“Right. Yeah. Me, too.” Gob knew if it went on any longer, he’d just get more depressed. “Well…Merry Christmas.”

“You, too, Gob.” After another pause he said, “Bye.”

“Bye.”

It felt so wrong to turn off the phone without telling Seth he loved him. He couldn’t remember the last time he did that. But he knew it was the right thing to do. He really loved him and he probably always would, and hopefully it would fade into just a friendly love, but, until then, he couldn't say those words to him.

Gob took a moment to himself before going back to the living room. He put the phone back and then hit Michael on the head as he went back to where he had been sitting. “You could’ve  _ warned _ me,” Gob told him.

“Sorry,” Michael mumbled as he rubbed his head.

"He misses you guys. I told him I'd tell you that," Gob said.

“You okay?” Lindsay asked.

He blinked a few times as he looked down at his glass in thought. After few minutes he nodded. “Yeah. It was nice…nice hearing from him."

After a small silence, Tracey got them started on a new topic of conversation and Gob gave her a grateful smile. He didn't really feel like talking about it all anymore. He really did know that one day it would be okay. One day he'd get over it. But right then, he just wanted to focus on enjoying the last few hours of Christmas.

* * *

_There'll be no more sorrow, no grief or pain_   
_I'll be happy that it's Christmas once again_


	7. I Need A Little Angel Sitting On My Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gob and Anna, who have just started working together, both can't go home for Christmas, and the power of Christmas provides them a much needed day of fun. And, of course, brings them together as friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I doubt anyone is going to read this - please let me know if you do - but I've had this chapter mostly written for around a year now so I wanted to post this! And since I'm also not home for Christmas and spending my first holiday season without family, I wanted some holiday cheer!

**I Need A Little Angel Sitting On My Shoulder**

_For I've grown a little leaner, grown a little colder_  
_Grown a little sadder, grown a little older_  
_And I need a little angel sitting on my shoulder_  
_Need a little Christmas now_

* * *

Christmas time could be a _great_ time for a musician. At least financially speaking, that is. It wasn’t quite as stressful as Holy Week—the combination of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and often multiple Easter Day services meant you could make _major_ bank from all the gigs, but it was a week full of rehearsals and practicing and never-ending sermons—but it was still hard.

Tons of places needed musicians, from churches needing more choral singers to perform large pieces of music to fancy cocktail parties for businesses needing some background piano music. So, yeah, Christmas time was a good time for musicians.

That’s why it was a _little_ weird that Gob didn’t have any gig going on. He figured the fact that he was about to start working with a new agent was part of that. His current agent was okay enough, but he obviously didn’t have his head in the game anymore and wanted out. This new one, though, this Anna chick, seemed very ready and very eager to dive into work.

In fact, she already had set up a meeting with him to go over possibilities for the New Year, when she’d officially take over for him. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, not like when they had met before. That combined with her pantsuit and heels made her seem very business-like and serious.

“You know, you remind me a lot of my brother, Michael,” Gob told her.

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

“Good. Mostly,” he said honestly. “You’re just very professional.”

She seemed satisfied by that and smiled genuinely. “Well, good. I wanted to come across that way.” She stacked up her paper and casually asked, “So, I’m guessing you have Christmas plans? Since you don’t have any gigs lined up and all.”

“Oh. I think he was just checking out already,” Gob said with a shrug. “I don’t have any plans, no.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. For the last couple of years I’ve gone to my sister’s place in Boston, but she’s with her in-laws this year. Sucks for her, but…”

“And California’s not an option?”

Gob paused. They really didn’t know each other that well yet…but she probably needed to know he was gay in case it got out and ruined his career or something, right? And she liked Tchaikovsky; she couldn’t be a raging homophobe, could she?

“I _could,_ but Michael and his family are also with in-laws and I don’t do Christmas over there if he’s not there. Or if his wife isn’t.” He sighed and said, “She makes dealing with my dad a lot easier…My dad’s not a big fan of classical music. Or gay people. So he’s _really_ not a big fan of me.”

Anna, to her credit, didn’t do any of those annoying, over-the-top reactions to the reveal of his sexuality or how his dad was an asshole. “Sucks for him,” she said simply.

Gob knew he liked her.

“What about you? Are you going home for Christmas?” Gob asked.

“Oh, no,” Anna said, shaking her head. _“God,_ no.”

“Why not?” Gob asked.

Anna hesitated. Gob had confided something in her, so she felt like she kinda owed him. “…I just started the divorce process.”

Gob, though surprised, repeated her words, “Sucks for him.”

Anna laughed quietly at that. “Yeah…he doesn’t live where I’m from, but with a divorce in my mid-twenties, I’m not really feeling like seeing my little sister who just got engaged. And my baby brother’s with his girlfriend, so…”

“You’re the oldest, too?”

“Oldest of three.”

“Oldest of four.” After a moment, Gob asked, “Is this your first Christmas away from home?”

“Well, I _did_ spend it with my now ex-in-laws one year. But, besides that, yes,” Anna admitted. “…Kinda not looking forward to my first one alone.”

“This is actually my first one alone; I’ve always spent it with someone, either family or a boyfriend,” Gob admitted. “Not really looking forward to it, either…”

They both looked at each other, unsure of what to say. Would it really be appropriate to spend the holiday together when they were just starting out their business relationship?

Then again, did they want to spend Christmas alone, either?

Gob finally said, “Well, if you don’t have plans—”

“I’d love to,” Anna said automatically.

* * *

After some discussion, it was decided that Anna’s place would be the best place to spend Christmas Day. When Gob explained his Christmas tradition of drinking, drinking, and more drinking, she was fully on board for stocking her alcohol shelf. When she explained her family’s tradition of watching Christmas specials and staying in pajamas all day, he was all on board for bringing some movies along with him. Anna even welcomed the idea of him bringing over any and all Christmas music he had.

So, after spending Christmas Eve doing things that would get him on the naughty list, Gob packed up his supplies and somehow managed to get to Anna’s place only a few minutes later than planned.

“…You really _are_ short,” Gob blurted out without thought as soon as she opened the door. It was the first time he had seen her without heels on and he felt like she was basically at his waist without them.

“Shut up,” Anna said with a roll of her eyes as she let him in. “Don’t even get a ‘Merry Christmas’.”

“Yep, you _totally_ sound like Michael,” Gob said as he unloaded his stuff. “But, yeah, merry Christmas.”

“You, too.”

“What smells so good?”

“Pie crust cinnamon roll,” Anna said. “My family makes it every year on Christmas morning.”

“Woah. Sounds complicated.”

“Nah. I used a pre-made crust, so I just filled it with butter, sugar, and cinnamon.” She looked at him and asked, “So, what did you bring?”

“I got some of my Christmas mixes, _White Christmas_ on VHS, and…” he pulled out a bottle of wine and a bottle of tequila, “the best Christmas traditions. I figured we could start with the wine to be classy and then move onto the good stuff.”

Anna made a small _oo_ sound. “Impressive. I was leaning more towards wine all day, but I might take you up on that tequila later.”

“You’ll have to warn me; I plan on finishing this bottle today.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “I’d prefer if you wouldn’t die in my apartment.”

Gob laughed. “Oh, trust me, I won’t. This bottle is nothing for me.” Anna looked confused and he said, “My tolerance is freaky high. It’s a family thing—don’t worry about it.”

Before Anna could question that more, the oven timer went off. Anna went to take her cinnamon roll out and Gob opened up his tequila bottle.

* * *

Once Gob was changed into his pajamas, he and Anna sat in front of her TV and ate her cinnamon roll—it was _really_ good. After a few bites, she put in a VHS of this weird claymation movie. Not, like, traditional claymation, but some half-hour special of Christmas carol covers ending with, of all things, the California Raisins doing a surprisingly amazing version of [“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gs--phzj2TQ&t=2s)

“I _love_ introducing people to that version of ‘Rudolph’,” Anna said once the special ended.

“Damn. And to think the only Rudolph song I ever cared about was ‘Run Rudolph Run’,” Gob said.

“But which version of ‘Run Rudolph Run’ are we talking about? The original?”

[“Bryan Adams.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBTbC5ZNYgQ)

Anna laughed and Gob scoffed at her. “What? He does a good version! And ‘Everything I Do’ is a _great_ song. He doesn’t get enough love.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right,” Anna said. “Just never heard someone admit to being a Bryan Adams fan.”

“You’re just too young to appreciate him.”

“Nah, I’m not _that_ young,” Anna said. “I’m just a bit of a purist. My parents are total hippie baby boomers. Sixties music is, like, my go-to.”

“Hey, I’m a Californian; I love me the Beach Boys.”

“They’re great,” Anna said with a nod. “My parents are more in line with the Beatles, though.”

For the sake of his new friendship, Gob managed not to roll his eyes or tell her how overrated he found them.

She continued, “But, admittedly, both John and Paul made _awful_ Christmas songs, so I won’t be playing them today.”

At least she had her facts straight about _that._

 _“Right?”_ Gob shook his head. “I hate when they come up on the radio. That and Elton John’s. They’re the worst Christmas songs _ever.”_

“I don’t think I’ve heard Elton’s and I’m _quite_ okay with that,” Anna said.

“You don’t like Elton John?”

“No, I love his stuff, but I trust your musical opinion,” Anna said simply as she started to rewind the VHS.

“As you should.”

Anna smiled slightly and said, “Anyone who owns _White Christmas_ has good musical opinions. There is not a single bad song in that whole movie.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason.”

* * *

Their watch of _White Christmas_ was interrupted by the sound of Anna’s home phone ringing. Gob answered it for her while she paused the VHS. He was very confused, however, by the person they asked to speak to.

“Gigi?” Gob repeated.

Anna quickly launched herself at the phone and took it from him. “Hey, it’s me…hey, mom, Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Gob laughed under his breath and Anna slapped his arm. He had forgotten her real name was “Georgiana”; she seemed like such an _Anna_ to him.

Ann groaned. “No, that wasn’t a rebound, mother. He’s a…client. And a friend.” Anna looked at Gob for confirmation and he shrugged. Sounded about right.

Gob waited rather patiently as Anna talked to her family. She didn’t talk for long, thankfully, since, as she explained, she had a guest over and all. By the time she finally got off, she looked a bit exhausted after talking to them.

“I love them, but they can be _so_ much sometimes,” Anna said with a sigh.

“I get it,” Gob said. He loved Michael, but he could piss him off just as much as anyone else could. Sometimes even _more_ so.

“It’s kinda nice not having to deal with them in person right now. I really don’t feel up to it,” Anna admitted. “The move was tiring enough. Then the divorce…it’s good that I’m getting a break.”

Gob nodded. “Where did you move from?”

“Well, I was in Chicago before I lived here,” Anna said. “But I’m originally from Ohio.”

Gob automatically snorted. “Yeah, New York’s _so_ much better than Ohio.”

“Oh, I know. Trust me. And we’re from such a small town. A smart, liberal town, but there wasn’t much to do there—Oberlin.”

“Oh, _fuck_ Oberlin. And that dumb school.”

Anna raised her eyebrows at him. “Both my parents teach there.”

Gob, not always the politest, asked, “So?”

Anna stared at him for a moment before laughing. “It’s not that bad. Very granola, though. I’ve never been as _peace and love_ as my parents. Or my siblings, for that matter. Like, they want me to wish my ex a merry Christmas. They even think I should forgive him, but…”

Anna trailed off and Gob watched her. He had a feeling what caused the divorce with that comment, but to clarify it, he asked, “How did it end?”

It took a bit of time and a sip of her scotch—that she took neat, like a complete freak, in Gob’s opinion—before she said, “We were already growing apart. I think I realized it was a mistake when we were planning the wedding—we already had so many differing opinions. But…but eventually he…he cheated on me.”

Gob shook his head. God, even _he_ had never done that.

Well, maybe back when he was straight. Or trying to be straight or whatever. But never with someone he _loved._

“Sucks for him.”

Anna snorted. “Yeah. Sucked for me, too.” After a sip of her scotch, she said, “We met while dancing, you know. I started as a dance major, and he danced too. He just kept on dancing and I stopped to study business—I wanted something stable, you know? I didn’t want to have to stop and restart my life if I got injured.” She sighed softly. “Looking back on it, I think he never got that about me. And maybe he only was interested in me when dancing was involved—I’d still dance with him, you know. I kept taking lessons. Kept doing pointe.” She smiled slightly before letting out a sigh. “…Dancing hasn’t really felt the same since, though. Maybe because he cheated on me with his dance partner. I don’t know, I just haven’t felt like dancing since. And I used to find empty dance studios to practice in all the time, but now…not to sound like George Michael, but I keep thinking I’m never gonna dance again.”

Gob let out a small chuckle. “I…I know how that feels, actually.” Anna looked at him in interest and he explained, “I dated this guy, Seth, for, like, four years. And I had known him for four years before that, you know. He was…he was my first guy. Back in, like, high school. We met at this music camp…”

Unable to stop herself from laughing, Anna said, “That seems to be how every gay man I know had their first relationship.”

Gob laughed, too. “Yeah. Sleep away camps are a great escape that way.” He took a sip of his own drink. “We kept in contact, though—mostly. Our senior year of high school was…weird.” He shook his head; no need to get into it then. “But we eventually got to be together for real. We lived together for our whole relationship. It was crazy. We actually were discussing some ceremony and…” Gob sighed and said, “he wants kids. And I don’t.

“And I guess we had kinda grown apart, too. We wanted different things. Different _people._ There wasn’t any cheating or anything, but…but it took a long time before I could play music again. ‘Cause we’d play together. Like, I could still do it. Physically and all. But it sounded all messed up in my head. Even Christmas music, which I’ve always loved since I was a kid. Everyone said it sounded fine, but…” Gob shrugged, not sure how to even complete that thought. It still didn’t make sense to him how even _music_ had lost its magic there for a while.

For a moment, they were both silent. Finally, Anna broke the silence as she said, “Yeah, I think you really do get it.”

Gob nodded. “Well, I can promise you, you’ll dance again. Even if it takes a while.”

Anna nodded. “Yeah…yeah, I hope so.”

“And, you know, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

Anna snorted and shook her head. Unable to stop herself, she said, “Oh, I don’t get _under_ anyone.” She immediately brought a hand to her face and winced. “I should _not_ have said that.” They were _seriously_ blurring the lines of their business relationship.

“Hey, good to know you gotta be on top; I think I’d want that from an agent,” Gob said with a laugh. After a moment, Anna laughed too, though she still looked embarrassed. “But, seriously, if you ever need a wingman, let me know. It could be my Christmas gift to you. I mean, I got myself some good last night—or naughty, I guess.” He gave her a wink and Anna laughed and shook her head.

“I’m fine for now, thanks. I already did a round of that self-care.” In a matter-of-fact tone, she stated, “I fucked his Best Man.” After a moment, she grinned and added, “I just didn’t get _under_ him.”

Gob laughed and clinked his glass against hers before they finally un-paused their movie.

* * *

They ended up ordering in a massive amount of Chinese food, enough that it would work for lunch and dinner. That had less to do with Gob’s family’s traditions and more to do with the fact that it was the only place open.

As they waited for it and watched a silly Christmas movie, Gob got his first phone call of the day on his cell phone.

“Hey, Seth. Merry Christmas,” Gob said, making Anna raise her eyebrows. She paused the movie, very intrigued to hear _that_ conversation.

But it was rather boring. They merely talked about their days and that was it. Well, that and an exchange of “love you”.

When Gob got off the phone, he acted like nothing weird had happened. Anna gave him a look like he was crazy and asked, “What was that? Wasn’t that your ex?”

“Yeah,” Gob said.

Anna looked at him, completely confused. “And you just talk like that all the time?”

“Yeah,” Gob said. At her continued confusion, Gob said, “We broke up years ago and we were friends first. He’s still my best friend.”

Anna blinked several times. “…Really?”

Gob nodded. Anna kept staring at him and he asked, “Instead of watching me, can’t we watch this movie?”

Anna gave him one last look before turning back to the TV and playing the movie again.

After a moment, Gob added, “I know some guys get scared off from how close we are, but that’s their own problem. We’re still best friends and always will be.” Gob snorted slightly, thinking about the new guy Seth was seeing. “I hope it scares off his new boyfriend. The guy’s such a tool.” He hadn’t met him yet, but Gob didn’t like him from how Seth described him and the few times he caught him on the phone when he called Seth. He hoped he was one of the guys freaked out by their friendship.

“What’s wrong with him?” Anna asked.

Gob made a face. “He’s just so…serious. And _boring._ Seth deserves someone _fun._ And Christopher is _not_ fun.”

* * *

Lindsay called eventually and Gob had a pleasant conversation with her and Maeby. As soon as Tobias tried to talk, Gob said he had to go back to hanging out with his friend and got off the phone.

“Annoying brother-in-law?” Anna asked.

 _“Extremely,”_ Gob said bitterly. “I hope your future one is better than mine.”

“He seems fine enough, so I’m sure he will be,” Anna said.

Finally, their Chinese food arrived. As they ate, they switched from watching Christmas movies to playing one of Gob’s self-made Christmas mixes. At one point a piano song came on and Anna tilted her head as she listened. It was quoting “O Come All Ye Faithful”, but in an overly complex, layered arrangement.

“Liszt?” Anna asked.

“My signature,” Gob said. He gave her an impressed look and said, “You really know your stuff, huh?”

“My parents did amateur orchestra and stuff my whole life. I’ve always loved music; I just couldn’t play anything,” she said with a shrug.

Gob nodded. It was good to know she really understood this stuff and wasn’t just going to make him play random shit. He leaned back and closed his eyes as he listened to the rest of the song, not opening them again until it was over. “God, I loved him already, but when I found out he had a whole set of Christmas songs? I loved him even more.”

Anna looked at him and slowly smiled. “How would you like to perform that set next Christmas?”

Gob raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

Anna shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find a place. And I’m sure you’ll have a higher profile by then so getting you a venue won’t be hard.”

“You really think you’ll improve my image that quickly in a year?”

“I’m _that_ good,” Anna said simply.

Gob looked at her and then raised his glass. They clinked them together and he smiled. He really liked her confidence.

* * *

As the strains of WHAM!’s [“Last Christmas”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8gmARGvPlI) started, Anna sighed but Gob nudged her. “Come on! You said you were sounding like George Michael in ‘Careless Whisper’, but _this_ is the George Michael you should be sounding like.”

And maybe it was the alcohol she had consumed. Or maybe it was because Gob kept poking her. Or maybe she just liked some old school George Michael. But, for whatever reason, after just a bit of provoking, Anna dutifully and loudly joined Gob on singing along.

_“Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special!”_

Anna had to admit that singing along to it felt pretty damn good.

“See? Totally worth being single to sing that song like that.”

“I don’t think you necessarily have to be single to sing that song. And I don’t think it’s the best part of being single, either,” Anna said.

“It’s not the _best_ part, it’s just a good part,” Gob said. He laid down on his stomach and said, “The best part is obviously the whole getting under someone. Or on top of them, in your case.”

Anna laughed, her cheeks the slightest bit pink from the wine. “No. The actual best part is not having to shave or trim anything that only yourself and your partner would see.” Again, she made a face at herself; even when spending the day in pajamas with a client, she should’ve remained _somewhat_ professional, right? Talking about her pubic hair definitely wasn’t a part of that.

“So you normally don’t have your parents’ hippie grooming ideals, huh?” Gob asked.

Anna wanted to resist commenting, but the wine had made her tongue loose, apparently. “It may not be very feminist of me, but I enjoy keeping all things on my body maintained. Usually.”

“Controlling your body is a big feminist thing, isn’t it?” Gob asked.

“Not when it’s for men’s pleasure, but I get what you mean,” Anna said.

After a moment, Gob raised a glass in cheers. “To not grooming.”

Anna looked at his glass for a moment before raising her glass and clinking it against Gob’s with a laugh. “To not grooming.”

* * *

After jumping around and jamming to [“Oi to the World”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFLExwIQKto) and a few other Christmas jams, Anna finally asked, “Would you be okay with watching _The Nutcracker?_ I haven’t watched it in _years,_ but it’s my favorite Christmas thing.”

“Hell yeah; I love Tchaikovsky.”

“I remember you said that,” Anna said, smiling slightly. “This is my favorite production; it’s so good. I used to have this basically completely memorized.”

With that, Anna put in an old VHS of _The Nutcracker_ on and the two of them just sat and enjoyed it. Well, Gob sat, but every now and then, Anna would move her slipper-covered feet or her arms in small gestures without seeming to even mean to. It reminded Gob of how his fingers would sometimes move when he heard songs he had played before.

Hell, his fingers started tapping against his knees once the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” started; he had played that celesta part a lot. And Anna’s movements became a bit more precise, definitely aware of what she was doing.

It wasn’t until the performance ended that Gob brought the movements up. “Still seems like you have it more or less memorized. And you said you didn’t dance anymore!”

Anna paused for a moment and then asked, “I think I was moving more than dancing.”

“Isn’t dancing just moving to the time of the music?”

“…I guess that’s fair,” Anna said. “But I wouldn’t call that dancing. I’d just call that a bit of movement.” She took out the VHS and sat back down on the couch. “It’s like you and the piano after your break-up. I may be able to move, but it doesn’t _feel_ right.”

“Yeah. I definitely understand.”

Anna took a sip of wine and, after a moment, she told him, “It’s just instinct to move to that. I did _The Nutcracker_ for, like, over a _decade_ in a row. Various parts, but including multiple years as Clara.” She laughed quietly and said, “The height meant I could pass as a child for years longer than most Claras.” Gob laughed with her. “But when I was a senior in high school, my dance program put on this show based on _Peter Pan._ We used pre-existing music and I was Tinkerbell, of course. And I got a big solo to the Sugar Plum Fairy’s dance.” She laughed and said, “The weekend of those performances…my memories of that are some of my absolute favorites.”

Gob nodded. He definitely had several memories of great performances. “I can’t imagine giving that up,” he said. “Performing, I mean. It’s the best feeling.”

"I miss it. But I didn't want to just dance for a living. I had other things I liked to do. I miss it, and I don't regret performing ever, but I love what I do now. And at least, unlike dancing, doing what I do now doesn't feel _wrong_ and _weird_ now because of the whole ex thing." She frowned for a moment at the reminder of how something she loved felt so poisoned at the moment. But then she smiled at Gob and said, "I know you're going to love what I do, too."

"I'm sure I will," Gob said. She really seemed determined to prove herself, and he knew that only meant good things for him. Still, he said, "I hope I'll get to see you dance someday. You know, when you feel ready to put on your pointe shoes again."

"I’m sure you will some day.”

* * *

They were eating their leftover Chinese in silence when Anna suddenly asked, “Are you sure you aren’t still… _interested_ in Seth?”

Gob was surprised by the sudden question, but once he got over his shock, he laughed and shook his head. “No. _Trust_ me, I’m over him. He’s really just a friend. I mean, do I get _under him_ whenever we’re in the same town? Sure. But I’m not interested in dating him anymore.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Gob said firmly. After a moment, he sighed. “It _does_ make a few guys kinda weirded out when I’ve tried dating, but he’s my best friend, even if we dated years ago.”

They went back to eating but, after just a few bites of sesame chicken, Gob said, “I really _am_ over him. But sometimes…”

When he didn’t finish that thought for a few moments, Anna gently asked, “Sometimes…?”

“Sometimes…I wonder if I’ll meet someone who’ll get me as much as he did,” Gob said. “…Before him I never had anyone I could talk to music about the same way. I haven’t met someone like that since, either.” Gob looked at the nearly empty tequila bottle in front of him. He picked at the label with the nail of his thumb. “He really just _knew_ me. Knew me in a way no one else does. And it was like he _wanted_ to know me.”

After a moment, Gob shook his head. “It wasn’t perfect. I can look back on it now and see ways we just didn’t work. And I think…I really do think we aren’t similar enough. We wouldn’t have lasted forever. But it was special. And I don’t know if I’ll find someone as good as he was for me. I tend to be a _lot_ to handle and…” Gob chuckled under his breath, “and I think even he couldn’t handle me all the time. But he was the closest I’ve met to someone who could.”

After a beat, Gob finished off the tequila and then went back to eating his chicken.

Anna considered him for a while, not really sure what to say at first. Finally, she just said, “I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re obligated to say that stuff—”

“I mean it, though,” Anna said seriously. Gob looked up from his food, raising an eyebrow at her. “Look, you’re making this big deal about how he ‘understood’ you? Well, have you considered that someone you met when you were in high school and that you ended up dating for four years after you already knew him for four years might just know you better than most people?”

Gob thought about it and said, “I guess that’s fair.”

“And he was the first person you could talk to about music? Well, I’m going to assume that you, like most pianists, weren’t necessarily doing youth orchestras or meeting a lot of musicians. So of _course_ the first time you met a classical musician, you two got along on that level and could connect that way. It doesn’t mean you’ll never meet someone else like that,” Anna said. “Even if you don’t date musicians, you can meet people like me who know about music—or might even want you to teach them more about music. That’s special, too.”

Gob’s eyebrows furrowed together. He hadn’t considered that.

“And, even if you don’t find someone you connect with musically, it’s not the end of the world. You can’t get everything you need from one person, no matter how similar you are. In fact, you _need_ different people in your life. You need a variety of perspectives and personalities and points of views.”

Gob nodded. He guessed that made sense. He always need to go talk to Michael when he had a big decision to make, and Lindsay would help him, too. He liked having their opinions, even if he normally did whatever he wanted to do.

“Like, maybe this thing with Seth and the new boyfriend works out. Chris or whatever—”

“Christopher,” Gob corrected, rolling his eyes. “Not Chris, not Topher. _Christopher.”_

“Right,” Anna said, nodding her head. “Anyway, maybe it’ll work out, even if you don’t think he’s fun. But maybe that’s why you’re meant to be in Seth’s life; to be the ‘fun’ person that can help him loosen up. Maybe he’s the ‘fun’ one in Christopher’s life, the one who loosens him up. Maybe he even gets to call him Chris instead of Christopher.”

Gob snorted. He couldn’t imagine that from the little he knew about him.

“But what I mean is that you can’t get all of your support from one person alone. It’s too much pressure.” She paused before quietly adding, “I think both my ex and I did that. We wanted the other to be everything you need in life. Friend, partner—romantic _and_ dancing partner. We tried to be everything for each other, but I couldn’t be all of that for him and he couldn’t be all of that for me. It’s too much pressure for one person to be someone’s _everything.”_

“You don’t think we should be friends with our boyfriends?”

She shook her head and said, “I think we should be, like, friends and whatnot with whoever we date, but we shouldn’t go to them for _everything._ We should have friends outside of our relationships. That’s what I’m trying to get at. And different friends provide you different things. So, maybe Christopher isn’t ‘fun’ or whatever. But a partner can’t provide all your emotional needs. So maybe he’ll turn to you for some ‘fun’ and laughter and all. You can get him to loosen up when you see and talk to him. It’s a good quality to have in a friend.”

She smiled at him and said, “I know I like it in my friends. This is the most fun I've had in a long time and I don't think anyone else in my life can provide this kind of fun."

Gob looked at her and, after a long moment, he slowly smiled. “Well…I like providing that for my friends.”

* * *

It wasn’t until after they ate that Michael finally called. After Gob talked to Tracey and George Michael for a bit, Michael got back on. They talked for a little and wished each other Merry Christmas, all of that. Michael also apologized for being so late with his call. Apparently he had a lot to do with his in-laws.

“It’s been fun,” he told Gob, though he didn't sound too convincing. “I mean it! It’s nice. It’s wholesome. It’s just…”

“No alcohol?”

“Not even _wine.”_

Gob laughed. “I’ve had wine _and_ tequila. You’re missing out.”

“Next year we’ll have to make up for it,” Michael said.

“…I don’t know if I’ll make it. Depends on if I get gigs or not.”

“You will!” Anna called out.

“You have company?” Michael asked as Gob laughed.

“Nah. I’m the company. So I should probably get going.”

“Yeah…yeah, I should get back to the in-laws,” Michael agreed. After a beat, he asked, “So, wait, who are you celebrating with?”

“Anna,” Gob said simply.

“Who’s that?”

“She’s my friend,” Gob said. Then he looked at Anna and added, “Well, my agent. But also a friend.” After a moment, he grinned and said, “She’s my friend, Agent Anna.”

“Agent Anna?” Anna asked once Gob got off the phone. “I like the sound of that, friend.”

Gob lifted his latest glass of wine and said, “I like the sound of that, too.”

* * *

_For we need a little music, need a little laughter,_  
_Need a little singing ringing through the rafter_  
_And we need a little snappy, happy ever after_  
_We need a little Christmas now!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who read this! I really wanted to actually finish this fic for Christmas but I really doubted anyone wanted to read any more of it and…I don't know. Holiday cheer has been lacking for me this season since, as I said before, I'm not with my family this Christmas. So, yeah, it's been lonely. I hope anyone reading this has a good Christmas and, again, thank you for reading this if you are, like, wow, that's honestly COMPLETELY unexpected. So thank you <3
> 
> …If you're reading I'd seriously love to know. Especially if anyone would actually be interested in more of this, because I have the bones of at least one more chapter (something I ended up not completing for the second piano fic). And uh…I've written out parts for what would be a (hopefully shorter) fic of Tony's life in this verse. With a bunch of stuff from the second étude fic that didn't make it in for one reason or another. Because believe it or not I took out scenes from that beast lol.
> 
> Anyway, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! <3


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